


Inkstuck

by lord_of_cats



Series: The Boy from the Book [1]
Category: Homestuck, Tintenwelt-Trilogie | Inkheart Trilogy - Cornelia Funke
Genre: Albino Dave, Child Abuse, Chubby John, F/F, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, InkHeart AU, Kanaya Maryam - Freeform, M/M, Rose Lalonde - Freeform, bc im trash, dave is a fictional character, dave strider - Freeform, in progress so :/, its a game of 'spot the reference', john egbert - Freeform, john is a Reader, john reads dave out of his book and shenanigans ensure, kanaya is best mum confirmed, kanaya is roses kickass wife, no seriously the first paragraph is a reference to, references where they don't belong, rose is the author of inkstuck, smol john, spoiler - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-12 04:32:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7085773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lord_of_cats/pseuds/lord_of_cats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Egbert has never been anything special. His mother made sure of that. He's never had a friend-his mother made sure of that too.<br/>The only thing he had to keep him going was his favourite book, Inkstuck.<br/>Through the years, he's fallen in love with the hero of the novel-Dave Strider-and admired Rose Lalonde, the author.<br/>His mother hates the book, hates John even more.</p><p>So when she asks him to read out loud for her, he's kind of puzzled.<br/>He's even more puzzled when he reads Dave Strider out of the book, as well as the notorious Usurper King-Jack Noir.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Reading

**Author's Note:**

> haha! Another fic, oh boy.  
> I really need to stop.  
> And yes, John's mother is the Condecse
> 
> Anyway, this is a crossover of Homestuck and Inkheart, a truly amazing book. If you haven't read it, I suggest you do. It's by Cornelia Funke.
> 
> Please tell me what you think! I really appreciate reviews/comments :). 
> 
> Also, first time actually coding in ever so sorry if I fuck up.

_The town of Lentimas was a hot, scorched town dwarfed by a massive volcano. Dust blew about the place, covering the town in a layer of orange and red. Because of these conditions, life could not survive here._

_The people here had a dismal air about them. They walked their day-to-day lives with a sense of the inevibility of death hanging over the town. Whatever manages to grow there is small and shrivelled and eventually loses the will to live._

_The volcano above the town rules all. It rules the Lentimas citizens lungs and breath. It rules their hearts and minds. It rules the town in all ways._

_It is said that in the volcano, lives a magician. An ancient warlock who can control heat and flames._

_You are not in Lentimas Town to meet the suicidal townspeople, or to observe the orange-tainted sights._

_You are here to meet that warlock._

Your name is John Egbert, and you are re-reading your favourite book ever for the millionth time.

You have to be super sneaky, or else your mother might hear you and take the book away, again.

She always threatens to take it and burn it, but you know she won’t. The author hunt down and burnt every copy she could get her hands on. This is the last one left. She wouldn’t dare burn it because it’s too valuable to her.

Instead, she glowers at the book that sits alone on the bookshelf.

 

One of the reasons why you like _‘Inkstuck’_ so much is because it is the only book your mother keeps in your house.

But that’s only one of the many, _many_ reasons you like it.

You love the descriptive way everything is explained, although some of it is a little confusing.

You love how gritty and dark everything is. How everything is gloomy and doomy until the rogue knight comes along and unintentionally helps everyone.

You absolutely love the characters, especially the hero of the story Dave Strider. He’s a sarcastic, cool badass that totally doesn’t give a shit about anything. Because you don’t have any friends—no one at school wants to make friends with the weird fat kid who talks to himself and wears weird clothes—you kind of consider him your best friend. You think maybe, in another life, you could’ve been best friends.

 

You shift the very heavy book on your lap to turn the page. The book is leather bound and all old-timey looking. It smells weirdly of spices, with hints of ‘new book’. There are a few fake gemstones on the cover, surrounded by the golden words on the cover. ‘Inkstuck’ The uppermost one says whilst the bottom one says ‘Rose Lalonde’.

 

Rose Lalonde is the author of Inkstuck, and in your opinion, a truly remarkable woman.

From what you’ve seen of interviews, she’s super sarcastic and really smart. She seems like a very motherly person—although your definition of mother has been tainted by your own, so what would you know?

You know she and her wife, Kanaya Maryam, live in a modern style mansion in New York. You know she used to have a twin brother named Dave—and after he died, she based her character on him.

You don't know anything else about her unfortunately. Your mother likes to keep the information from you, to hurt you.

 

You dig into the story again, laughing at Dave’s shitty jokes you’ve read a million times. You are so absorbed in the story that you don’t notice that your mother is calling for you until she nearly wrenches the door off its frame.

You supress a scream. She’ll punish you for that.

 

Your mother stands in the doorway—a foreboding figure.

Her long dark hair swirls around after her everywhere. Her arms, neck and legs are constantly covered in golden jewellery. Seriously, she wears them to bed.

Her skin is very dark—almost pitch black. It’s kind of like yours, except yours is peppered with faint scars and fading bruises.

For some reason, she likes to wear a black and fuchsia wet-suit everywhere. You don’t really get it, but you are not complaining.

 

Fuchsia eyes look you once over in disgust.

“Boy.” Her voice is curt and to the point.

“Y-Yes ma’am?” You stutter out.

“Don’t stutter at me. It makes you sound even more ridiculous then you normally do.”

“Yes ma’am. Sorry ma’am.” You struggle to keep your voice level.

She glares down at the book in your hands. “I thought I told you not to read that trash.”

You open your mouth to reply, but her glare stops your words in their tracks.

“Nevermind. I don’t care. Not right now anyway. Bring the book into the living room. Don’t make me wait.”

You don’t say anything as she walks out of your room. You know you have no choice but to follow her.

 

Hurriedly, you close Inkstuck, picking it up and clutching it to your chest. You begin to make your way to the living room, passing numerous photos of your mother.

It used to be filled with pictures of you and your dad, as well as other, homey things. But then your dad died, and left you in the care of this pink monstrosity.

She changed it.

She changed everything.

 

You walk into the living room, clutching the book to your chest as a sort of safety blanket.

Your mother is sitting on the couch alongside another woman you’ve never seen before.

 

This woman is tiny sitting next to your mother. She’s got blonde hair that frames her face and blue eyes that are framed by blue horn-rimmed glasses.

She’s writing stuff down in a little booklet while your mother talks.

 

When you walk in, they both look up.

 

“Boy. Read for us.”

 

Surprised by your mothers words, you step back a little.

 

“Don’t protest, just do it.” She snaps.

 

Shakily, you walk over to the other couch. After you sit down, you open to the first page and begin reading.

 

_“Once upon a time, there was a prospering city called Derse. It was a rich city, filled with many blessings from the ancient ones above. The system was fair and just. Hardly anyone who lived in Derse held grudges or lived in bitterness._

_This was all thanks to the Good King Bartholomew, who ruled over his people with a fair and just heart._

_Under him where his Knights, who protected Derse from any harm from invaders or evil-dooers.—“_

“No no.” Your mothers voice interrupts you. You blink a little out of the trance reading put you under. Reading aloud always did that.

“Yes ma’am? Am I doing it wrong?” You barely manage to get out.

“Yes. You are reading the wrong page.” She says. She leans forward, and you catch a whiff of the sea air and rotten seaweed.

She flicks forward in the pages until coming to a stop right near the end.

“I want you to read this page.”

 

You stiffen up.

You love this book, you really do. But if there was one thing you could change about it—that would be the ending.

The whole book is about Dave going rogue. He wants to kill Jack Noir, the Usurper King to avenge his brother. He travels across the land to awaken certain powers within him so that he’ll be strong enough.

In the end, he’s finally strong enough—or so he thinks.

After a truly epic rooftop battle, Dave is captured and sentenced to public execution.

Dave doesn’t even struggle, just lets it happen.

The story ends with him dying.

 

“Come on boy. Do it.”

The blonde woman scribbled furiously in her notes, making no comment to me.

 

_“The crowd was like a singular mob, thinking as one, acting as one. When they saw me enter the courtyard, bloodied and bruised, being held up by guards, they surged forward. They all wanted to see me dead. So I will give this crowd what they wanted._

**_(You clutch the book tighter in your hands. You struggle to hold back tears that threaten to spill and make your mother angry. You always do this. You can’t help it—you are very attached to Dave and don’t want to read him die.)_ **

_The guards didn’t try to hold back the crowd, so as I was roughly dragged to the execution block I felt things hit my face. Mainly rotten vegetables, which hit my face and slid down it, leaving stinking trails of filth. Some children even ran up to me and kicked me in the nuts, which I did not appreciate. The guards yanked me back when I started after them._

**_(You chuckle a little at that. Dave got hit in the nuts a lot. It was really immature, especially compared to Rose’s other works, but that’s why you love them. You don’t notice your mothers glare, but you don’t really care anyway. You’re too entranced in the book to notice. You, like always, wish that Dave was right here with you, making smartass comments and ironic jokes.)_ **

_High above me, I could feel Jack’s cruel eye on my back. He would come to watch my downfall, like he did to my brother before me. I know I have lost, but I will lose with dignity. I will not him see me cry._

**_(Stupid Dave. Stupid, brave, idiotic Dave. Always refusing to give in to the enemy, even when it looks bad. Refusing to show any weakness—anytime. You wish for once, he could be able to just relax and not have to worry about maintaining his stoic image.)_ **

_So instead, I shot him a smirk as I strode to my final resting place. My head would be chopped off and placed on a spike outside the Castle to warn against traitors. I really hoped they enjoy the view._

**_(They do. I do. Just not of your head on a spike. You would like his head and body very much attached thank you very much.)_ **

_Once we reach the podium, I turn to the guards._

_“Hey, you might think you’ve caught me, but don’t get aHEAD of yourselves. I still have a few tricks down my shirt.”_

_They push me in response to my excellent joke. I nearly trip, but manage to right myself just in time._

_“Wow. Tough crowd huh?”_

_**(You feel kinda weird. Are you supposed to feel like your insides are churning around and your heart is fluttering out of control? You feel sick, and slightly nauseous. But you can’t tear your eyes away from the page, so you keep reading.)** _

_My joke is met with a stony silence. I hear a few boos in the crowd. I shrug and grin at them._

_“No takers? Aww come on, it was worth a head-shot!”_

_Someone throws a rotten tomato at me. It leaves another trail of slimy red mush down my face._

**_(You feel really weird now. You think your Mother and the blonde woman are staring at you. You think that maybe, the book itself is glowing, corresponding with the weird feeling in your chest.)_ **

_“Dave Strider, you are sentenced to execution by beheading for treason against the King. How do you plead?”_

_A squire’s voice echoes across the court-yard._

_“Heh. Yeah, totally guilty. Tried to kill the King. But he murdered my brother right in front of me so, you know. Fair’s fair.” I shrug at them._

_More booing ensures, and above me, I can hear Jack laughing manically. With an act of defiance, I decide to flip him the—_

You stop reading. You don’t know why. You think it might be because the weird feeling in your chest stops. It is replaced by a feeling of great fatigue, and you just want to curl up and sleep forever.

Or the fact that when you look up, your mother and the blonde woman are gone.

Instead, sitting on your couch are two men.

One of the men is blonde. He looks to be slightly older than you—around 15 years of age. His extremely pale skin is covered in dirt and grime. Rags hang off his muscly frame in a way that doesn’t make him seem like a hobo. He is wearing dark, oval shaped glasses that cover half his face.

The other has very dark skin, much like your mother. He is dressed in rich finery. Rich velveteen fabric lined with animal fur decorated his body. Golden necklaces hung from his neck. Hundreds of tiny gemstones covered his body. Atop his head sits a golden crown.

 

You close the book with a snap, staring at them with wide eyes.

Dave Strider stares back, looking non-plussed and cool about this whole situation.

The Usurper King Jack leers at you, giving you a disapproving once over.

 

“Ha ha! Told you I had something down my shirt ol’ Jacky-poo.” Dave smirks at Jack, nudging him with his elbow.

Jack snarls-actually snarls-at Dave.

“Whoa!” Dave grins and holds his hands up in the air. “Jeez—“ He looks at you, waving his hand around a little in the air.

“J-John.” You manage to stutter out. Immediately after, you yawn.

“John, who is obviously very bored at this predicament. We do, I believe, have a very touchy badass over here.”

“Touchy! I get it. Because he doesn’t like you touching him.” You giggle a little, but struggle to stop once you notice him staring at you. “Sorry” You mumble under your breath.

 

Dave shakes his head a little, as if clearing intrusive thoughts.

“Anyway Jacky-poo, I’m afraid my associate and I have you surrounded. I will actually be able to avenge my brothers death—isn’t that just fucking great?”

Jack whips out a sword, seemingly from nowhere. He presses it to Dave’s throat.

 

Both you and Dave gasp in surprise.

Jack is holding Caledfwlch, Daves famed legendary blade. It is only supposed to serve Dave, and Dave only. But by the way Jack is confidently holding it in his hands, you don’t think that rule applies anymore.

 

“Hey! That’s my sword! What the fuck!?”Dave says, backing away from the tip of his once-loyal sword.

It inches closer and Dave inches back further, but his back hits the couch. Jack grins wickedly, taking this opportunity to press the blades tip into Daves throat. A trickle of blood runs down Dave’s neck.

 

Weirdly, you’re not freaking out at all. I mean, any normal, rational human being would be flipping their shit.

Your favourite ever fictional character is sitting across the couch from you, a sword pressed to his throat by your least favourite character. There is an epic battle happening before you and you feel like taking a nap.

Jesus Egbert, do you have your priorities in order.

 

But when you see the trickle of red slide down Dave’s throat, you realise you’ll have to fight your tiredness and help him.

But how?

 

You glance down at the heavy copy of Inkstuck in your lap. You glance back at Jack and Dave. Dave is readying a magic attack in his fists. You recognise the flickering red glow as Fire Magic. Unfortunately, so does Jack, who easily dodges Dave’s flame-filled punch and pins him down further. You look back down at Inkstuck.

 

With a shriek of fear and rage, you surge forward and start hitting Jack over the head with the last copy of Inkstuck.

He stops in his tracks, dropping Caledfwlch onto Dave’s chest and turning to you, a murderous glint in his eyes.

You let out a terrified scream and hit him over the head again.

He sways a little, and Dave take this opportunity to strike.

Dave charges forward, his fist on fire.

 

You pull back Inkstuck just as Dave’s fist collides with Jacks face.

Jack staggers back, clutching his smoking face and swearing horrendously. You raise the book again, as threateningly as you can muster.

Jack shoots a scorched, red eye from you to Dave. He’s assessing you, sizing you up.

Then, just like that, he’s gone.

One second there, the next gone.

 

You stare at the empty space where Jack stood. You can smell the acrid stench of Teleportation Magic.

You feel a great wave of exhaustion pass over you. You were feeling pretty tired after they appeared, but the simple act of hitting a bad man on the head with a very heavy book really wore you out.

 

A calloused, pale hand enters your vision. You slowly turn to see Dave standing in front of you.

 

“Hey.” He grins. “I’m Dave Strider.”

 

“I know.” You reply, before the crushing fatigue takes you over.

 

You pass out.

 

 

 

 


	2. What the Fuck is Going On?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Dave talk over what the fuck just happened and bond, by looking up porn on tumblr and using wikipedia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the new chapter! I'll try to update as often as I can, so every 3-4 days?
> 
> The fabric of that couch is cotton with fur pillows.
> 
> As always, tell me what you think! I love comments :33

Your name is Dave Strider and you are freaking the fuck out right now.

 

Not that you are willing to admit it.

 

But seriously? Considering the situation you’re in, you don’t blame yourself.

 

First, you were lined up for the chopping block. You were about to die. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t terrified.

But Bro always said to never show **_anyone_** your true emotions, so you pretended you were cool with your own death. Well, you mean, you’d love to die—what true, self-deprecating teenager wouldn’t—but not like that. Not at the hands of your worst enemy.

But then, suddenly, you weren’t.

You were in some random kids house, with said random kid looking as if he’d just used a demon summoning ritual that actually worked. Wide blue eyes framed by thick, rectangular glasses and a collection of bruises. Mouth open in shock, displaying rather large front teeth. Dark hair literally sticking in every possible direction. Small and chubby, he looked at you as if you were the entire world.

Later, you admit to yourself that he's kinda-really-fucking-cute.

 

Unfortunately for you, Jack came with you to this weird place too.

He was never stable, especially under King Bartholomew. Lashing out like that was normal for him.

What wasn’t normal for him was to be hit on the head by a large and heavy book. It wasn’t normal for his victims to fight back.

 

He escaped, teleported away like the coward he is. But you’ll deal with him later.

Right now, you need to make sure John is ok.

 

What? You might be an asshole, but this kid saved your life. Twice.

You owe him that much.

 

You’ve bundled him up in the softest, comfiest blankets you could find and set him on the couch. He looks so cosy and comfortable.

You’ve set his beloved book on the table. It took quite a bit of tugging to get out of his hands. You feel a bit awkward handling it, so you’re refusing to look at it while you eat your sandwich.

You got the ingredients from John’s fridge.

 

Currently, you’re sitting opposite him eating a sandwich. It's a really nice sandwich, with lettuce and tomato and chicken and beef and cheese.

You have a lot of questions to ask him—but when he wakes up of course.

Like; how do you know who I am? What the fuck did you do? How did you do it? Why? Who the fuck hurt you? Are you are warlock? You don’t look like one. Well, one I’ve met anyway.

 

You are very impatient. You watch him sleep for about ten minutes before giving up and starting to throw bits of sandwich at him.

It doesn’t work, he’s too far gone in the land of dreams to wake up.

Instead, you decide to fuck around and explore the house.

 

You raid the pantry in hopes of finding more food. You find more pillows and blankets and decide to make a blanket fort around John. You dig through cupboards and drawers in hopes of finding any information on John.

You find none, until you reach a tiny room at the far end of the hallway.

It can be hardly called a room it’s so small. The only piece of furniture in the room is a dirty, ripped mattress. It covers nearly the entire floor. It’s dark, the only source of light being from the open doorway. You feel as though you are intruding on something private, so you turn to leave.

 

“Guess it wasn’t a dream then…” John says from the doorway.

He’s clutching that book tightly to his chest, as if he is a drowning man and that book is his only hope of survival. His dark hair is mussed from sleep but his eyes are bright and alert.

 

“What, you don’t think you could dream up someone as handsome as me? Don’t worry, I don’t blame you. I’m too hot to be real. Fortunately for you, I am real.”

“Right.” He rolls his eyes. “You’re so hot you just phased into reality—just like that.”

“Yep. I’m magic like that.”

“Right, well sorry if I don’t believe you. Fictional characters don’t just appear out of thin air. That isn’t how things work.” He frowns at you.

“What do you mean fictional character? I’m fucking real aren’t I? I’m right here?”

He ignores you, and continues to talk.

“This is all just some horrible prank Mother is playing on me isn’t it? You’re just an actor, and you’re fucking with me.”

“Excuse me? _Me_ fucking with _you?_ Why the fuck would I do that? _You’re_ the one who teleported me and Jack here!!” You shriek back at him. This time, he seems to take notice of you.

“ _Me!?_ Teleporting you? But you’re the one with magic!”

“Yes you fucking teleported me! I highly doubt that Jack would teleport me and seeing as teleportation is one of the Magics I can’t perform that only leaves you. Plus that book you’re holding looks like a fucking spell book! Admit it! You’re some kind of Warlock!”

 

He freezes up, staring at you with wide blue eyes.

 

“Y-You think I’m a Warlock?”

“Aren’t you?”

“N-no! I’m nothing special. I’m definitely not a Warlock! This is just my mother playing a massive, cruel prank on me!”

“Nothing special!? You just saved my life twice kid, start talking.”

“I didn’t—I’m telling the truth! I didn’t do anything! One minute, my mother and that strange lady were sitting on the couch watching me read. The next, the two of you were on the couch wrestling!”

“Well, you certainly did something! One minute I was going to be executed, the next I was sitting on your couch—which is rather comfortable by the way. Really, what material is it?”

“You just got teleported to another universe, nearly killed twice and you’re asking about couch fabric!?”

“That couch was very comfortable! I, unlike you, have got my priorities in order. Honestly, if you can’t tell me the fabric of that couch, then I’ll—wait a minute! Did you say teleported to another universe!?” You jump up a little at that, getting kind of in his face. He flinches away and shifts his eyes around uncomfortably.

You step back, arranging yourself awkwardly. John visibly relaxes as you do and you try not to get insulted.

 

“Um yes. You did. I don’t know how, or why, but you aren’t from this universe.”

“What do you mean? I live in this universe, don’t I?”

He shakes his head. “No.” He murmurs, and holds out his book to you. “You live in this one.”

 

You grab it from his hands, staring down at the worn cover in confusion.

“What the fuck? I don’t live in a book! How would I even fit?”

He moves forward and opens the book. He begins pointing to certain parts of the text and you begin reading.

 

What you find horrifies you. This is your entire life story! From your days in the Derse Palace, to your epic quest, to your downfall. You skim through it all while John watches you with a sad expression on his face.

 

Once you are done, he breaks the silence.

 

“I’m sorry.” He tells you.

 

“It’s fine.” You reply.

 

It’s not.

 

 

Your name is John Egbert and looking up a story while its protagonist sits right next to you is the most awkward moment your life.

 

After the initial shock of his entire universe being a book in yours, Dave wanted to know everything there is to know about the story.

So, you snuck in your mothers room to get onto the internet.

 

You doubt she’s coming back, but you’re still pretty nervous about being in her room. Dave, sensing your discomfort, strapped Caledfwlch firmly to his back to make you feel better. He claimed he’d protect you from her, which you found quite sweet.

 

“Man, these fangirls really like drawing me naked huh?”

“Yes well fangirls do that.”

“I thought you said the author burned almost all the copies for reasons unspecified?”

“Almost. Some escaped her flame-filled wrath.”

“Ah. I’m guessing the less copies, the more interest and soon enough everyone was reading it?”

“Yep. Got it in one. After she burnt them, everyone began taking interest. Soon, the fan populace grew into a full out kingdom! They tried to make a movie, but Rose wouldn’t give permission, so they couldn’t make it.”

 

“Hold the fuck up.” He says and points a disgusted finger at the screen.

“Ah.”

“Is that me and Jack—“

“Hmmm”

“— ** _Kissing???!!!???_** ”

“Yep. You’re totally having sex. Don’t question it. 100% canon. Number one OTP.”

He looks at you with utter disgust written on his features. You shoot him a cocky grin and click on the tags below it.

“Let’s see the rest of this ship.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Too late!” You hum as the tag successfully loads.

 

He screams in horror as more, quite sexual images pop up. You start to laugh, but then the look on his face stops you.

Before you can say react, he leaps on you. You know it’s meant as a friendly wrestle kind of thing. You can tell by the way he avoids your more obvious bruises and instead focuses on tickling you.

But you can’t help but think of your mother—with her cruel words and pummelling fists.

 

He immediately stops and backs off you, mumbling out apologies as he does.

“It’s ok. It was my fault anyway.”

“No it wasn’t. Normally I’m really chill about that sort of thing. But I guess seeing me doing the do with that dirty brother killer really pissed me off.”

“I can see how you’d think that. It must be horrible. I’m sorry.”

“Nah it’s cool. But I guess you can say I saw red.” He flips down his shades, giving you a glimpse of bright red eyes.

 

You giggle at that, a loud, high-pitched thing that makes you feel very sub-conscious but you can’t stop.

 

Once you do, Dave hands you the copy of Inkstuck.

“How about we stop looking up porn of me and start looking up how you read me out? I mean surely there’d be something some crackpot has made on it?”

“What, like a conspiracy website? Can we even trust those?”

“Sure we can!” He says, typing something into the computer. “Reading fictional characters out of books.”

“Oh come on, like that’s going to wor—“

“—Wikipedia article yo!”

You inch closer to him so you can look at the screen. The article is rather short, but Dave reads out the synopsis anyway.

 

_“Readers are those with the unique and rare ability to read objects and people out of written text. It is believed this ability is caused by a rare genetic mutation, but is not confirmed._

_While a Reader can read something out of a book, the laws of matter state something must be replaced when they do. **'Energy cannot be created or destroyed, only converted into another form.'**_

_Many ancient Sinnohian tablets and temples depict Readers as Godlike and extremely powerful. They were likened to the Gods themselves._

_Unfortunately, virtually nothing is known about these rare people—most Readers die in horrific accidents or never reveal their abilities. So they have faded into myth and fantasy.”_

“Hey John, turns out you’re a God.”

“Um yeah, in Ancient Sinnoh. Which doesn’t exist anymore Dave.”

“Well excuuuuuuuuse me princess. Or should I say you racist cunt. Gods John, you can’t just shit on someone’s religion like that.”

“Since when did I shit on someones religion?”

“Since always.”

“Right, what about before I was born?”

“Your foetus-y ghost floated around Ancient Sinnoh, telling them how stupid their religion is.”

“What, so baby ghost me went around an ancient civilisation to tell its citizens they were worshipping false gods?”

“Yes. Baby ghost you did do that.”

“Right. Glad we cleared that up.” You say, getting up off the bed.

 

“Well, we’ve figured out what I did. And I think you’ve accepted your entire world is a lie? Maybe? Maybe not? I don’t think my mother or the blonde lady is coming back. A serial killer is loose in America. What do we do now?”

Dave shrugs, not looking up from the laptop.

“Dave! This is serious! What do we do!? We’re like, 14, 15. Who’s going to believe us? I’m known for pranking people. No one I know is going to believe me!”

“Everyone you know huh? What about her?” He turns around the laptop to show you the smirking face of Rose Lalonde.

 

 

Your name is Dave Strider and you have a lot of driving to do.

Well, John has a lot of driving to do.

 

After you managed to convince him to steal from his mum, travel across the country with no previous experience with driving to meet his favourite author and attempt to convince her two of her characters are real. (Which wasn’t at all as hard as you imagined.) John charted a map across the States to follow. You paid no attention to the map because you were too engrossed in the TV in front of you.He also made highly detailed plans to visit various roadside attractions and detour through famous landmarks along the way. Despite what you say, you’re pretty excited for this.

 

John insisted you at least help pack the car. Which you totally are helping with.

You’re cheering him on as you sip a popper of apple juice and sit on your ass. He shoots you multitudes of glares as you do. But sometimes, when he thinks you’re not looking, he’ll shoot you an awed look, as if he can’t believe you’re there.

You don’t blame him, you can’t believe you’re here either.

Honestly? It feels as if you’re dead. You know it sounds pretty dark, but you do.

Several warlocks you’ve met have theorised that there is ‘life after death’ so to speak. Where your brain is in such denial over its demise that it straight out creates a whole new universe in the last few precious seconds of consciousness.

You thought it was honestly bullshit. But now, as you watch John load up the car, you think you might be dead. You mean, surely someone like that can’t be real. Maybe your attention starved brain dreamt of someone who cares about you so that you won’t feel so alone during your last moments. Maybe it decided to just fuck with you. Maybe—

 

“Dave? You going to keep slurping on that empty popper of AJ or are you going to listen to me?” John’s voice snaps you out of trance-like state.

You look down at the empty and seriously deformed juice popper in your hands. Turns out you’d sucked it dry while sitting and reminiscing about the events of the past six or seven hours.

“Probably keep slurping.”

“Well you can slurp in the car. I’ve finished packing.” He gestures behind him to the fully packed car.

It’s filled to the brim with blankets and food and shittons of jewellery. You helped John raid his mothers safe and jewellery to get enough money for the trip. John seemed incredibly happy to discard her things and even started a game of ‘who can throw her shit out the window further’.

 

“Sure I’m ready to ride or die.” You get up, walking over to the passenger’s side of the car. “I call shotgun.”

“Dave!” John calls, following you a little before getting in the drivers side. “You’re the only passenger. Shotgun already applies to you.”

“Whatever.” You say as you press random buttons in hopes they do something. “Anyway, do we have to go just yet? I mean, do you want to say goodbye to anything?”

He looks over at you, hands gripping the steering wheel.

“Oh fuck no!”

You shoot him a cocky smile. “Then floor it. Let’s get out of here.”

 

He floors it.

 

 

 


	3. Road Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Dave go on a Road trip and become besties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter lol :)  
> Anyway, have fun with this one.  
> Tell me what you think :)
> 
> Anyway, as a simple Australian, I give no fucks about American geography so you'll have to deal with my briefly-googled state map knowledge.

Your name is John Egbert and Dave is wearing the ugliest thing you’ve ever seen.

 

You insisted that you both change clothes—him out of his (very) stinky rags and you out of your ratty old sneakers and clothes.

After being overwhelmed by choice (you’d never chosen anything yourself before), you picked a simple green buttoned t-shirt, dark blue jacket, black tracky-dacks and simple sneakers.

Dave however, decided to buy his clothes at the local costume shop.

 

“Hey Egbert, how do I look?”

 

He’s wearing a princess dress meant for seven year olds. It is way too small and obviously pinching every part of his body. It’s more like a shirt on him and you can see **_everything_**. It’s hideously pink, with some tacky picture of a Disney Princess on the chest.

 

“Beautiful, just like a blooming flower in a field.” You say sarcastically.

“Awww thanks babe! I’ve always wanted to be that!”

“No problem darling, you always look amazing to me.”

You’re being sarcastic of course, you can tell how uncomfortable he is just by looking at him. He winces at every little movement he makes. He has a major wedgie and it’s showing. Not that you’re looking at his ass, nope. Not at all.

 

The employee however, doesn’t get your sarcasm.

“Sir you can’t wear that.” She says, flushing and fixing her red-rimmed glasses.

“Why not? Afraid everyone is going to explode off their boner-rockets and shoot off into the sky? Afraid that everyone is going to simultaneously explode into rainbows and glitter?”

“What? No! You can’t wear that because I can see your penis quite clearly! Besides, it’s obviously way too small.” She hisses out the word ‘penis’ as if she’s a Year 3 Student learning anatomy for the first time.

It’s true. You can see his dick quite clearly. You’ve been trying to ignore it, but when the employee mentioned it, you found you couldn’t stop staring. You can’t see it all in its full glory, but you can see a massive bulge in his pants.

 

“Woah Egbert, I’m a man, not just a piece of meat. Please respect me and my body.” Dave flashes you a smirk as you tear your eyes away from his dick.

“Sorry babe, couldn’t help myself.” You mutter, flicking your eyes around the room in search of something else.

“Well if that’s how you’re treating me, then I’m going to change.” He sniffs haughtily and hobbles back into the change room.

 

Dave is…slightly different from how you pictured him.

He’s less a total badass and more a major nerd. You think he never really got a chance to grow up, being the brother of a knight and forced to serve under the King from a young age. He always had to be stoic and serious, never getting to have any real fun. Which is probably why he acts like a five year old doped up on sugar most of the time.

He's a major fucking asshole most of the time too. As well as having the _worst_ sense of humour ever. You caught him laughing at an old lady who fell down.

** _An Old Lady._ **

But, other times, he’s really sweet. He tries to hide how much he actually feels behind his shades, but you can tell.

You mean, you grew up reading his book after all.

 

“Hey Egbert! I got a brand new outfit—try not to stare.”

 

Dave comes out of the changing rooms and—oh sweet Jesus what the fuck is he wearing?

 

Half of it looks like it should be in a cheesy action movie. Long red cape, black muscle shirt and long fingerless red gloves. A thick brown belt holds up…a bright pink skirt.

It’s kind of like the princess dress from earlier, except less tacky and it actually fits him. Beneath it are long, stripy tights that seem to embrace his legs.

Finally, he’s wearing some kind of hideous Barbie™ gumboots. Fluoro pink with hot pink bows, they seemingly shine underneath the stores lights.

You know how albinism can really hurt its sufferers—sunburn and bad eye-sight just a few of those—but Dave should be fine. His body is completely covered. The cape is hooded and should protect his face as well as his shoulders. The rest covers his body quite snugly, and you can tell by the way he moves he’s comfortable.

It’s perfect.

 

“It’s hideous.”

“Great! I’m getting it.”

 

 

Your name is Dave Strider and this roadside museum of obviously fake attractions is really boring.

 

The attractions are so fake they’re falling apart. As you pass a horned rabbit, you see the horn fall of onto the grimy wooden floor. The whole thing is set in a small wooden shack that you swear is actually some ones house. No seriously, you’ve seen the tour guide’s grandkids running around the place or some shit.

The tour guide is a grumpy old man with an eye patch, red fez and suit. You’re pretty sure he’s conning everyone in the room, especially when you see him shoving money into his pockets.

This ‘famous’ shack is the first actual stop in your merry-road-trip to New York. It’s located in the middle of a state called Oregon. It smells really badly and if you see one more flock of fucking sheep you will flip your shit you swear. John took a major detour **_just_** to see this place and it is not living up to expectations.

 

But John seems to like it.

 

He’s gasping along with the other gullible people as the tour guide shows your group the tacky attractions.

Five-legged bears, mysterious disembodied hands floating in metho, multi-headed fish. The list goes on and on as you pass more and more extremities.

 

As long as John’s happy, you’re happy.

 

That still doesn’t stop you from complaining though.

“John, I don’t get it, what’s this supposed to be?” You say, pointing to a rather phallic looking totem.

“Well I don’t know Dave, why don’t you read the description?”

“Well I don’t know John, why don’t you?”

“Unless you want millions of tiny little ancient totem-dildos running around this place, I don’t think I should.”

“Well maybe I do want millions of tiny little ancient totem-dildos running around this place, you don’t know my life.”

He shoots you a knowing look and you remember something very important.

“Woah you fucking stalker. Goddamn, been Reading up on my life story. Watching me grow up and live my life. Jeez John, so goddamn creepy.”

 

He just rolls his eyes and walks off to join the departed tour group. You consider staying behind to snicker some more, but the six pack o’lope is giving you serious evil eye so you hurry to catch up with John.

 

Once you’ve caught up, you decide to give John an even better tour description than the guide is giving.

As the guide talks, you mutter better descriptions into John’s ear. Soon, to your (professionally hidden) delight, John starts laughing. It starts off as quiet, cute little giggles but soon grows into loud, barely-contained guffaws. He can’t seem to stop and everyone is staring.

You nudge him a little and smirk down at his panting form.

 

“You right there Johnny boy?”

“Shut the fuck up!” He wheezes out.

“Careful John, there are children present.”

“Yeah, you.”

“Really John? I’m insulted you’d even think that.”

“Dave you’re wearing Barbie™ gumboots. You are not qualified to adult.”

“I’m not qualified to adult? A few seconds ago you couldn’t stop laughing at dick jokes, goddamn you fucking hypocrite.”

“You were the one who made those dick jokes, so I’d shut up if I were you.”

“But you’ll never be as cool as me, so quit dissing my jokes.”

“I’ll quit dissing your jokes when they stop being so terri—oh god Dave everyone is staring at us.” He says, pointing a shaking finger at the group of glaring tourists.

 

“Whoops. Sorry ‘bout that.” You say calmly, waving apologetically at them.

 

They turn back to the tour guide with a few glares and mutters shot your way.

You continue to give John brilliantly shitty comedy gold while he continues to act as if it’s not funny.

All too soon, the tour is over and John and yourself are heading back to the car. You’re chatting about how shitty the exhibits are and he’s arguing about how great they are.

 

You feel so fucking grateful this guy is your best friend.

 

 

Your name is John Egbert and this motel really stinks.

 

The room is dirty and obviously hasn’t been cleaned properly in quite a while. The wallpaper is peeling off the mouldy walls. There’s only one bed—a double—which you’ll have to share with Dave. You’re not complaining about that, more so the mouse you saw run under the bed when you entered the room.

But hey, you’ve slept in worse conditions and this was the only place you can find that will accept you.

 

Currently, you’re in the rooms bathroom freshening yourself up. You just had a (barely) hot shower and dried yourself off. You’re not freshening yourself up perse, more getting yourself ready for bed.

You’ve got on some really comfy new pyjamas and you’re brushing your teeth. You’re so tired from driving all day. But you have been taking breaks—Dave made sure of that—but it’s still taken a few days to reach Nebraska.

Not that you mind of course, the last few days have been the best, most exhilarating days of your life. You’ve seen some of the best sights with one of the best people in the world. You couldn’t be happier.

 

“Hey John, come make fun of this shitty movie with me!” Dave’s voice calls out to you from the shitty lounge-bedroom.

“Hold on, I’m coming.” You call back, spitting the remaining toothpaste into the sink.

Fully prepared for bed, you make your way back to the bed, curling under the covers.

Dave is watching some shitty, low budget film on the crappy motel TV. You vaguely recognise Nicole Kidman and Hugh Jackman in the rugged landscape of ‘Australia’. Even you will admit this movie is shit and you have watched every shitty movie you could get your grubby little hands on.

 

So you make fun of the shitty movie with Dave until the movie ends.

Then, the two of you just _talk_ until you are too tired to continue.

You fall asleep curled into each other for warmth.

 

 

Your name is Dave Strider and this is the best fucking museum in the history of ever.

 

John convinced you that this would be something you’d really enjoy, and he was not wrong.

The Indiana Dildo Museum is probably the best thing you’ve ever seen. It has all kinds of dildos from all kinds of species. Each one more new and more fascinating then the last.

Back at all the other shitty tourist attractions you paid no heed to the tour guide. You spent the entire time whispering dirty jokes in John’s ear. All the other ones were boring. This one isn’t.

 

You listen in awe as the tour guide explains ancient dildo rituals and other weird, incredible things. John is snickering at how into it you are, but you say it’s purely ironic.

Which it is.

 

There’s dildos of every possible shade—red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet, grey. There’s dildos of every texture—glass, wood, nylon, plastic. There’s dildos of every conceivable shape and size. There’s one for every known species—and more after that.

This place is literally dildo heaven.

 

You can’t help but get (ironically) excited for the entire thing. They never had anything like this back in Derse. You’ve never had this much fun in your life. It was always rules and regulations you had to follow. Never dildo museums with best friends and road trips across the entire country for shits and gigs.

You notice how John looks at you fondly as you excitedly wave at a purple tentacle dildo. You can’t help but notice how happy he looks.

 

Even later, the two of you buy some dildo-shaped icy-poles after the tour is over. As the two of you are sitting side-by-side on a park-bench, licking your dildo-pops, you can’t help but think…what if you stayed here? You’re happier, John’s happier, why can’t you stay? When you dispose of Jack, maybe the two of you could go on epic bro adventures together?

 

But then, as he’s waving his dildo-pop in your face, you catch a glimpse of the Book strapped to his back.

You don’t belong here.

After you find and kill Jack, you have to get him to Read you back in.

You push the dildo-pop aside.

You can't afford to become attached.

 

 

Your name is John Egbert and after a week and a half of travelling, you’re finally here.

 

You can see the skyscrapers of New York loom overhead as you drive past them. You have to restrain yourself from staring up for too long because you’re driving and it’s your job to keep your passengers safe.

 Speaking of your passenger, he’s sleeping soundly underneath a pile of blankets. You don’t want to wake him, so you think you’ll surprise him by waking him up when you get there. He's been a little quiet lately and in a funk. Maybe this will cheer him up?

 

But there's one problem with that

…You don't know where Rose Lalonde actually lives.

 

She’s a very secretive woman, and you hardly know anything about her. You know she lives on the outskirts of NYC with her wife, Kanaya Maryam. That’s it.

Your mother withheld as much information as she could from you. You have no idea where to go.

 

You guess you’ll just have to wait and see what happens.

 


	4. The Seamstress and the Author

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now, to introduce two other characters into this story ;)

Your name is Kanaya Maryam and working on your latest dress design has really drained you. You just need a model (or a break), and Rose is too busy staring at her laptop screen as if it holds the answers to the universe.

Knowing how smart and successful your brilliant wife is, she probably would find the answers to life itself on a blank piece of paper.

 

Currently you’re taking a little break. A walk through the bustling streets of New York City should really help inspire you, right?

Half-melted slurry sloshes from underneath your high-heeled feet. A few stray snowflakes flutter down and land on your dark hair.

Maybe you’ll even find a model out here in the snowy streets of New York City? I mean, this is the city where dreams are made of, right?

You’re not really sure, having grown up in China and all. But Rose has shown you some aspects of American ‘culture’, just as you have shown her aspects of Chinese culture.

 

That’s how the two of you met actually—at a cultural conference thing. She was there with her mother and you were there with your older sister, Porrim. You hit it off at that conference and exchanged contact details.

Soon, you became best friends and then flatmates, then lovers and then a happily married couple!

 

You huddle up into your scarf, trying to hide your flushed face in its perfumed scent.

You always get really excited and happy whenever you think about Rose. You can’t help it, you just really love your wife.

 

To distract yourself from thinking of your relationship (because you will get very flustered and not think of anything else) you decide to observe the people passing you by.

 

You can tell a lot about people by what they wear—it’s kind of a fashion designer thing.

A bright, happy looking girl skips past you. You can that she’s a rather kind, polite person because of the obnoxiously bright sundress she’s wearing (even though it’s the middle of autumn and pretty cold out).

Your theory is confirmed when she shoots you a happy smile and a cheery wave.

 

You pass her by and head up the steps to the shops.

You pass by a grumpy middle aged man wearing a clean suit. You can tell he’s in a rush to get to work because he pushes you aside as though you are nothing.

You shoot him the finger however, and it makes you feel a little bit better.

 

Whereas the city streets were empty, the vast, shiny halls of the mall were packed.

You could see all kinds of different people milling about, all with terrible fashion sense.

You even see someone wearing pants and a skirt— _at the same time._ It’s disgusting and you won’t stand for it. But you must, because this is a public space and you don’t want to cause trouble.

You’re just here for inspiration.

 

Most of the styles here are urban, with denim and backwards caps and brightly coloured sneakers. Perhaps you should try to make an urban range? You’ve never really designed urban clothes before—it might be fun!

 

You pass a boy sitting alone on a bench. He’s wearing clothes reminiscent to the style of an old girlfriend of yours. Dark jeans, green plaid shirt covered by a blue jacket. He's clutching a heavy satchel close to his chest But, unlike your ex-girlfriend, this boy is covered in fading bruises and healing scars.

The way he holds himself…he’s nervous, scared. Blue eyes are shifting side-to-side as if he’s worried about something.

Your mother instincts are screaming at you to help this child.

 

Before you can even make a step towards him to see if he’s ok, he’s noticed you staring. He gives you a cheery wave and goes back to waiting.

But he looks so lonely sitting there on the bench. Your motherly instincts are screaming at you to do something about it.

 

So you do.

 

You march over and sit beside him. He looks a little surprised, and smiles at you wearily.

 

“Young man, are you alright?” You ask him, giving him your most concerned motherly stare.

“What!? Yeah I’m fine. How are you today miss?” He replies, shuffling dirty and worn sneakers against the tiled floor.

You ignore his awkward question and continue to prod. “Where are your parents? Are you waiting for them?”

“No. My dad is dead and Mother is…gone.” He says and there’s a sense of finality in his eyes. You don’t question him on that any further.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I saw you sitting there alone and got a little worried about you.”

“Oh, it’s fine. Dad died when I was pretty little, so I only really knew mother. And I’m not sitting here alone, because I guess you’re sitting here with me.”

 

You smile at how sweet this poor child is. Your motherly instincts are telling you to bundle this child up in blankets and protect him from the evils of the world. Unfortunately, hugging a complete stranger out of the blue would probably get you arrested.

 

“Well then, my name is Kanaya. Kanaya Maryam. What is yours?”

At the mention of your name, the boys blue eyes widen underneath thick black glasses.

“Woah really!? Oops, uh I mean, my names John. John Egbert.” He holds his hand out for you to shake.

You take it warmly. His hand is quite pudgy, and you can feel several scars on the pads of his hands.

 

“So John, what are you doing here?” You ask, drawing your hand away and placing it on your lap.

“Oh!” His face lights up. “Me and my best friend Dave are going out to lunch! It’s gonna be great, I already picked out a restaurant and everything—apparently it’s really good! I can’t wait. But I have to, because he needs to go pee.”

“So, it’s like a date?” You smirk coyly.

He blushes and hides in his hood, drawing the strings so that his face is hidden.

“N-No! It’s not! We’re just two friends eating lunch after a long week and a half’s driving! This will hopefully be really good, I’ve been really hungry lately…” He trails off, staring at the floor with a look of regret on his face.

 

Your motherly instincts scream as warning alarms go off in your head.

 

“Oops, forget I said anything…” He mutters, looking at you with a sad smile.

“Is everything ok? You should really tell someone if it’s not.”

“No! Everything is perfect! Everything has been so amazing, I can’t believe it’s happening!” He smiles at you, as if his skin isn’t patterned with fading bruises and he isn’t jumping at every little noise.

You open your mouth to stay something, but John has spotted something.

 

He excuses himself and hurries up to another boy.

The boy is tall and muscly. His hair and skin are as pale as snow. He’s wearing…oh sweet virgin mother, what is he wearing?

You don’t even have the words to describe it, it’s so disgusting.

 

But John hugs the boy as if the boy is a long-time friend, so you can put aside the boys horrible dress sense. John leads the boy over to you, hand in hand.

“Hi Kanaya! This is Dave, my best bro.”

Dave gives you a nod in greeting.

“Dave, this is Kanaya, an um…. _total stranger_ I met today.” A bit of scuffling around their feet, with a weird game of footsies. You choose to ignore it.

 

“So, Dave, I really like your outfit. Just wondering where you got it?” You can’t help but snark your new acquaintance.

“Oh, I inherited it from my dead parents. Y’know, last living memory of them and all.”

**_Another orphan!_ **

Really? This whole place is filled with orphans!

It is unacceptable.

 

John clutches Dave in a big hug and looks over at you.

“Sorry, he gets upset about it sometimes. But I think we all would.”

You frown a little.

“Children…if you’re both orphans, where are you staying?”

“John’s shitty car.” Came the monotonous reply.

 

**_Unacceptable_ **

****

 

Your name is Rose Lalonde and writers block absolutely sucks.

 

You are currently trying to write the third and final book in your fantastical wizard series. It’s been quite popular with the select few that religiously follow your work.

You’re nearly done, but unfortunately you’ve been struck down with a terrible case of writers block.

This scene is supposed to be an epic, final showdown between the protagonist and antagonist. But no matter what you do, you can’t make it epic or final enough!

 

Jaspers isn’t helping either.

He’s sitting on your desk and meowing loudly at you as you struggle to write your story.

Occasionally, he’ll place his paws down on your lap—but quickly retract them when you give him a stern look. Unfortunately, with Jaspers being a cat and all, he doesn’t listen for very long.

Soon he’s got his butt in your face and claws digging into your skin. He manoeuvres his way around your lap (leaving quite a few scratch marks on your thighs) and finally settles down to curl up.

 

Well, you guess no more writing for tonight.

Because you are very well read up on the laws of cat ownership, you know that once a cat settles down on you, you can’t disturb them.

But you really need to get up.

 

Kanaya should be back soon and you need to greet her like the doting housewife you _totally_ are.

Luckily for you, the chair you’re currently sitting on is one of the wheely office chairs. You can just roll your way out to greet her, like an eccentric spy villain. With you stroking Jaspers ominously and all.

 

Speak of the devil! You think you can hear her now. But…you can hear someone else as well.

Kanaya is conversing with another person. You have never heard their voice before, but it sounds like it belongs to a happy and cheerful person.

But then…someone else speaks out.

They sound so much like…

 

Disregarding the rules of cat-ownership, you push Jaspers off your lap and hurry out your study door.

Once you step out of your study, you’re greeted with the sight of your lovely wife with two boys. One, you have never seen before. The other, looks, sounds and is currently acting just like your dead brother.

You shoot Kanaya a confused look.

 

“Oh. Hi Rose. Umm, meet John and Dave. I umm…well. You know how you always say to _help people in need_ and—“ Kanaya avoids your gaze, choosing instead to stare at the ceiling.

“Kanaya, what did you do?”

“Well, you see. I saw these children, and they’re homeless and orphans so I—“

“So your mothering instincts took over and you offered them a place to stay?”

She avoids your gaze further, this time at the various paintings on the walls of your house.

“Well, I guess we do have room for guests. We’ll be happy to accommodate the two of you for as long as you need.” You give them a warm, genuine smile.

 

But you have ulterior motives.

Something is telling you that these boys are hiding something and you don’t doubt that for one second.

 

The taller of the two (Dave) is as pale as your twin brother was, with the shades to match. He looks so much like your brother, it’s really creepy.

But he’s not.

This Dave has too many muscles, too many scars to be your brother.

This Dave is wearing something that your brother might wear—if he was forced too, and even then, it was for ‘the ironies’.

This Dave is holding himself in such a way that he looks like a proud and mighty warrior, like a fighter.

This Dave is more a mockery, a fake of your brother—just like the character in the stupid Inkstuck book you wrote when you were fifteen because _he_ begged you to write him so that he's a hero--at least once.

You hate it. It’s like this kid is cosplaying him, mocking you in the same passive-aggressive manner your mother did.

But why would a homeless orphan cosplay someone from a book they’ve never read?

 

The shorter of the two (John) is less curious then his friend, but that’s probably your biased opinion.

He’s short, dumpy, and holding himself in a way that suggests he’s been severely hurt—but he’s healing. He looks like a sweet, genuine kid and you can’t help but feel bad for him.

He shifts, a little uncomfortably in your piercing  gaze. You notice him shift the satchel he’s holding. You notice a strange golden shine glint off of the copy of an old book. It’s hidden pretty shoddily, but you would recognise it anywhere.

_Inkstuck??_

_~~But you burnt all the copies you could find when Dave committed suicide.~~ _

You guess some missed your grief-fuelled flames.

 

But, if John has the book, and Dave isn’t cosplaying, then that must mean—

 

John holds out his hand for you to shake, awkwardly interrupting your train of thought.

“Umm…thank you Miss! For accommodating us and all. Really, it’s a huge help.”

“No problem.” You shake his hand. “It’s no problem at all.”

 

 

Your name is Rose Lalonde, and you are trying to pry information from these two children without arousing suspicion.

Which is actually way easier than it sounds.

 

You mean sure, Kanaya figured out what you were doing pretty early on and is now shooting you glares across the dining table.

You also think Dave has cottoned on to your little scheme—but he just isn’t say anything.

John however, is happily answering your questions—even asking some of his own.

 

The four of you have just finished dinner—the plates have been cleared and the after-dinner chats have begun.

You finger a piece of paper in your pocket—its purpose will be revealed later, once you have lulled them into a false sense of security.

 

“So, you travelled all this way, just to meet someone?” You ask, crossing your legs under the table.

“Yep! I mean, we’re not that sure if we’ll even find them. New York City is huge! It’s so different from rainy Washington.” John replies, grinning and waving his hands around.

“Well yes, I suppose New York is quite different from any place on Earth. Much like everything on Earth is so different from everything else…hmmm?” You shoot a glance Dave’s way.

“Yeah. Totally. I grew up on a space colony on the moon. Everything is so different from Earth. Everyone wore great big purple robes and great golden necklaces. People could fly too--like you’d just be walking down the street and you’d just look up and see flying assholes.” Dave says in a flat tone of voice.

“Funny thing that the only thing you mentioned was their long robes and looking up into the sky?”

“Are you implying what I think you are?”

“I’m not implying anything. You were the one who seemed to be saying that you look up the Flyers robes. Do you look up their robes Dave?”

John splutters on his glass of milk and starts giggling loudly. Kanaya covers her mouth in an attempt to hide her own laughter.

Dave looks downright offended at the very thought of looking up the Flyers robes.

 

“What!? Those stupid snobs? They only care about themselves! They fly around, not giving a shit about anyone! Just because they have fucking flying powers and they’re too stuck up too—“ Dave breaks off with a sharp gasp of pain.

“Wow Dave! That was umm…a great story, huh? Just a story. A totally great, made-up story.” John says nervously, shooting Dave a pointed look.

 

Perfect.

You’ve been waiting for them to slip up in their story, and now they have.

You see, what Dave calls ‘Flyers’ are what you believe to be Air Elementals.

In Inkstuck, they fly around Derse with their heads in the clouds. They are referred to by the city folk as ‘Flyers’ because that’s all they do. Fly. Often times they ignore everything around them in favour of catching a breeze, or zooming laps around the city. They are actually pretty common on Derse, always fling everywhere in their silly purple robes.

But they are only mentioned once in the book, in a passing statement. No one really knows about them.

 

You grab the slip of paper from your pocket and feign reading it. You squint your eyes and pretend to have trouble reading it.

Of course you’re actually not—you did write this yourself after all—but they don’t need to know that.

 

“Oh! Rose, are you alright there?” John asks, taking the bait.

“Oh…not really dear, you see, I misplaced my glasses and I’m having trouble reading this.”

“Well, I can read it for you, if you’d like?”

 

In your peripheral vision, you can make out Dave elbowing John and faintly hear them whispering to each other. Something about how ‘I’ve got a plan Dave, just trust me.’

What the plan is, you don’t know.

But you’ll find out.

You always do.

 

You hand the piece of paper to John and he takes it. Nervously, he adjusts his glasses and begins reading.

 

_“The beast is small and dainty. It looks rather feline-like, but its long slender tail breaks off into a fork. It has soft, velvety lilac fur that seemed to be sensitive to my every movement. Its eyes are wide and a deep, absent purple. In the middle of its forehead there is a red gem seemingly fused to the very skull of the beast. It seems to glow with a mystic radiance, a sort of kindness and wonder that people of all ages dream of.”_

John finishes reading.

Nothing happened, that’s strange.

You were sure that he’s a—.

A soft, confused mewl interrupts your doubts.

 

Earlier, Jaspers was sitting on the chair beside you. Now, in Jaspers place, a rather confused pink creature is sitting, staring at the four of you with wide purple eyes.

 

You turn to John, who’s still holding the piece of paper in trembling hands.

“I believe you have some explaining to do.”

John fiddles with the paper even further, but looks you in the eyes.

“Yes…we do.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, author is trash.  
> Brownie points to whoever can guess what the 'beast' John read out was.
> 
> (btw I actually wear skirts and pants combo so it's really me shitting on myself, please don't get offended)
> 
> As always, enjoy this slightly-longer-than-normal chapter!
> 
> Tell me what you think :)


	5. Explanations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John explains things and Rose takes it surprisingly well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhhh!  
> And yes, Whisker is an Espeon.  
> Cute little fic fact-Rose got John to read out an Espeon because she knows that's Kanayas favourite pokemon. She also made sure that Whisker liked Kanaya more than anyone else so that they can develop a close bond. (Basically Rose wanted her wife to feel the joys of being a real life trainer).

Your name is John Egbert and oh boy is this awkward.

 

You’ve decided to move to the Lalonde-Maryam living room to explain things.

You and Dave are sitting on one couch while Rose and Kanaya sit on the opposite couch.

Well, you say sit.

Dave is sprawled out on your lap like a cat would. His torso is being cushioned by your thighs and his limbs are skewed about on the couch. His shades are up and nestled in amongst his pale blonde hair.

Rose is sitting much like a psychiatrist would—legs crossed, notebook and pen in hand and scheming look on her face.

The ‘beast’ you Read from Rose’s paragraph has taken quite the liking to Kanaya. It’s not so much a beast once you realised what it really was—a Pokémon.

Considering your mother locked you away from as much media as she could, you never really got into Pokémon. So you have no idea which one it is and Dave doesn’t even know what Pokémon are. You’re way too shy to ask Rose and Kanaya.

The Pokémon is still pretty small, and quite adorable looking curled up on Kanaya’s lap.

 

After much debate, Kanaya decided to name it Whisker, after an old cat she and her sister owned when they were younger.

You’d say it’s a pretty bad name, but Dave wanted to name it Dildo and Rose wanted to name it Viceroy Snugglebutt. You yourself wanted to name it something equally stupid, but you felt way too embarrassed to speak up.

 

You’ve been really embarrassed and awkward ever since entering the Lalonde-Maryam house. Your mothers’ words ring in your ears, about how you’re fat and useless and no one will ever like you. That there's reasons your schoolmates don't like you. That you'll amount to nothing, because you're fucking idiotic scum.

You shake your head a little to clear those thoughts. You shift Dave in your lap and begin to tell your story.

 

“So umm, earlier, when I said that mother was gone? I meant I read her into this—“ You pull out the copy of Inkstuck from your satchel and place it on the coffee table.

“I-I didn’t mean too! B-but she and that other lady told me to read, so I did, a-and then Dave and Jack appeared and now they’re both loose somewhere, I don’t know—“

 

“Aww yeah, I am loose as a goose on a mongoose.” Dave interrupts, stretching out on your lap.

“Dave?”

“Yeah bro?”

“Please never refer to yourself as ‘loose as a goose on a mongoose’ ever again please.”

“But John!” He says, sitting up and twisting around so that he looks you dead in the eyes. “I _am_ as loose as a goose on a mongoose. Honestly dude, I can’t believe that you’d degrade my identity like that.”

“Well too bad, I am the degradation police, here to destroy your hopes and dreams.”

“Le gasp! Oh no! What ever will I do?” Dave fake gasps, bringing his hand up to his mouth.

“You can put up your hands and give up on all your aspirations.”

Dave doesn’t reply, just puts his hands into twin pistols. “No. I believe it is you who needs to put their hands up!”

“He’s got a gun! No, he’s got two guns—quick, duck for cover!”

Too late, he mimes shooting his finger gun at you. You clutch your chest dramatically and begin sliding down the couch, Dave in tow.

“I’ve been hit…tell my…um…officers I love them.” You fake-gasp out, collapsing onto the floor. Dave falls on top of you, chuckling in a low drawl that you find really attractive.

Again, you’re struck down with the uncontrollable giggles.

You can’t help it, but Dave waits until you’ve finished before initiating a tickle fight.

 

Normally, you think you’d freak out if someone was touching you, full stop. But you trust Dave. You’ve loved and trusted him ever since the first time you finished his book. You’ve loved and trusted him even more ever since you read him out of his book.

He won’t hurt you.

 

So you tickle him back. Sure it’s hesitant and shaky, but the way he laughs makes it all worth it.

 

“Ahem.” Rose coughs, bringing you back to the present. “If the two of you would stop rolling around on the floor for two minutes, I have approximately two questions.”

“Only two?” You reply, sticking your head up from below the coffee table.

“Approximately two that I believe must be addressed immediately. First of all, where did Jack go? You never did specify where he went.”

You open your mouth to answer but Dave beats you to it.

“That cowardly motherfucker teleported away when John hit him over the head with a heavy ass book. Shit was great, like John was some kinda book ninja—swinging that book around like some kind of samurai sword.”

“I highly doubt that a book can substitute for a samurai sword. Perhaps a weapon like a hammer would be better?” Rose asks, smiling at you, black painted lips stretched in a kindly smile.

“I dunno, I just kinda hit him…I didn’t mean to hurt him—well actually, I kind of did.” You eye off the copy of Inkstuck on the coffee table.

 

“Alright so, ‘Mass Murderer loose in America.’ I have that one down.” Rose says, writing down notes in her notebook. “Now, John. Can you tell me more about this ‘other woman’?”

“Other woman? Like, the one who was transported to the Inkstuck realm with mother?” You ask after a few minutes of thought.

“Yes, I do. Can you describe her the best you can?”

You don’t really know what notebook-lady has to do with anything, but you try your best.

 

“Ummm, well she was really short and skinny. Her hair was bobbed and bleached blonde and smelled really bad. She didn’t even look at me. Mother said—um, w-well I…didn’t really look at her either.” Your thoughts become sour at the thought of your mother. You wish that your father had never died and left you with that horrible witch.

But you know that’s not how the world works—you can’t just wish for your problems to magically go away—you have to fix them yourself.

 

Your hurt must be quite visible because Kanaya gives you a pitying stare and you shift a little nervously under her gaze. Dave, somehow sensing your sadness by some weird, ironic telepathic best bro bullshit, brings you in for a big hug.

You close your eyes and lean into his body.

The two of you stay like that for a few minutes before Rose speaks up again.

 

“So you are a Reader then.”

“Yeah well he just Read out a fucking Pokémon—whatever that is— an hour and a half ago.” Dave points to Whisker, who is happily purring on Kanayas’ lap.

 

You had to take a little nap after Reading Whisker out. It just feels, so draining to Read something out. Luckily, it wasn’t as tiring as it was with Dave and Jack. You guess because transporting four humans (you think) across dimensions would be more draining then only transporting two animals across dimensions.

By ‘little nap’ you meant you were pretty much unconscious for an hour and fifteen minutes. You still feel pretty tired, but Rose and Kanaya deserve an explanation—although you’re pretty sure that Rose already knows precisely what’s going on.

 

“It’s an Espeon, not just a Pokémon. It’s got psychic powers.” Rose sighs, giving Whisker an affectionate pat.

“I have powers too! Look, see?” Dave cries out, spreading his fingers and letting forth a burst of red light.

 

You gasp in amazement as the sparks fizzle out into little stars, before eventually fading away completely. You absolutely love magic—especially Dave’s magic.

The way Rose described it never did it any justice.

Each magician has a specific signature to their own magic.

A cruel and ill-meaning persons magic will stink of deceit and treachery. It will fill your nostrils with the noxious stench of black liquorice, rotten eggs and stinking garbage. Oftentimes you will see swirling clouds of black nothingness whenever they use their magic.

Their magic is never pleasant.

A kind and well-meaning persons magic will smell sweet and full of light and hope. It will fill the air around it with sweet, happy scents, such as citrus and rose petals. Their magic is bright and colourful, with stars and sparkles and beautiful rainbows.

Their magic is more beautiful then you could ever imagine. But seeing as Dave is using magic (once again) in front of you, you don’t need to imagine it.

 

The scent of strawberries and apples fills the room, fading as the brilliant crimson of Daves magic fades.

Noticing how amazed you are, he decides to show off a little more.

Red, orange and yellow lights gather around Daves hand. Underneath his skin, his veins glow with a flickering white light. It looks like he has the golden blood of the gods themselves.

He flexes his fingers out, sending out warm rays of light across the room. They reflect in his shades—the colours of the sunset against pitch black. There is a subtle orange glow to his features—mixed in with the mottled glow of his golden blood of Ichor.

The lights begin to form into a shape, twisting and spinning its way out of the confines of Daves palm. A glowing blue orb sat at the top, seemingly guiding the rest of the magic particles. It begins to take the shape of a majestic fire-breathing dragon.

It zoomed around the room once, before spotting you. If possible, it shines brighter as it hurtles towards you. You can’t stop giggling as it soars around you, shooting little stars as it goes.

 

Seeing your reaction as such as a positive one, Dave readies another fist. This time, the particles are cool coloured—icy-blue, sea greens and deep purples.

In the centre of the swirls of magic, a dark red orb glows. It leads the rest of the little lights over to the other red dragon. As they meet up, they begin to twist around each other, doing little pirouettes in the air.

You gasp in amazement and excitement, watching the two dance with wide eyes. They’re so graceful!

You glance over to Dave, and notice the huge smile on his face.

 

It’s beautiful.

It lights up his face in a spectacular way—even more spectacular than the twin dragons circling around you.

You can see dimples on his cheeks, as well as a light dusting of freckles. He is absolutely perfect and you love him so much.

Whenever you read Inkstuck (which was everyday) your crush on Dave grew and grew. But that was that—a stupid crush on a fictional character that would never work out. But now he’s here—and real! And your stupid crush has grown into what you think is probably love. Unfortunately for you, this crush will forever be unreciprocated.

 

“Dave, please stop showing off and stoking your massively inflated ego. I would like my house to be not burnt by magical dragon flames.” Rose says crossing her arms to her chest.

The dragons fade away, their roars subsiding into gentle whispers.

You hide your disappointment with a huge yawn.

 

“Really John? You just slept for like an hour.” Dave looks at you, all traces of the smile gone from his face. You frown a little at that, he shouldn’t have to hide that gorgeous smile of his.

But Dave isn’t some asshole you can force to smile just because you like it. Dave is his own person, and he has every right to be a poker-faced dork.

“Well maybe I’m still tired, have you thought of that?”

“You seemed pretty energetic before, when I showed you my sweet ass magic skills.”

“Yeah, that’s because I was trying not to barf.”

“What!? I thought you liked my fucking beautiful display of wonder. I didn’t go all out just for that shitty ass response.”

You respond with nothing but the maturist of answers—sticking your tongue out at him and pulling a funny face.

He puts his hand to his chest in offended gesture. He opens his mouth to probably give you a smart-ass comment about how offended he is and how you’re besmirching his maiden honour, but a yawn bursts from his lips instead.

“Hee hee hee! Who’s tired now? Hint-it’s you.”

“Shut up.” He mumbles, rubbing his eyes. “Those dragons kinda drained me and I’m tired.”

“Aw! Poor diddums!” You chuckle.

 

“Alright boys, time for bed. C’mon, I’ll tuck you in and make you some hot chocolate.” Kanaya has moved over to the two of you, Whisker perched on her shoulder. She leans down and helps the two of you up.

“Um, alright then. Goodnight Mrs Rose, thanks for everything.” You nod your thanks to Rose as Kanaya leads you away.

“No. Thank you.” She replies, a little strained and tired looking.

 

It’s only later, when you’re dozing off in the comfiest bed you’ve ever been in, that you begin wonder what she meant.

 

 

Your name is Kanaya Maryam, and looking after these two boys is just like having children of your own.

 

You’ve always wanted kids, but considering you’re a lesbian, you can’t have them. You and Rose _could_ adopt, but the both of you are way too busy to do that. Your studio is way too dangerous for a little toddler to run around in. You mean, fashion can kill. Rose hates distractions when she’s in her study writing her books. A screaming toddler would give her a headache and make her really grumpy. Grumpy Rose does _not_ like to have fun _at all._

 

But, looking down at the two sleeping boys in front of you, you regret not getting children sooner.

They loved the hot chocolate you gave them. Despite being teenagers, they fell asleep to the bedtime story you read them (one of your own works, which you’ve been working on to impress Rose).

They both snore and move in their sleep—and you find it very endearing. You smile to yourself when you notice that they’re holding hands across the bridge between their beds.

Whisker hops down from your shoulder and trots towards the beds.

She shoots you a look that says ‘ _go to bed. I’ll watch over them for you.’_

You decide to take Whiskers advice.

You bid them goodnight and leave the room, closing the door behind you.

 

You make your way to the master bedroom—the room you and Rose sleep in.

You’re tired—it’s been a long day and you want to go to bed and snuggle with your beautiful wife.

You’re so tired that once you enter your bedroom, you take no notice of its decorations and instead dive under the covers and scoot over to Rose.

 

“Are they in bed?” Rose asks you.

Rose is sitting up in bed and reading. The bedside lamp casts a warm yellow glow on the lilac walls of your bedroom. You press your face into her side and let out a tired moan.

“I’ll take that as a yes then. How were they?”

“Pretty good. They drank the hot chocolate and went right to sleep.”

“Oh. That’s good.” Roses answer is curt and clipped.

“What’s up? Is everything alright Rosie?” You ask, poking your head out from beneath the covers.

“Everything’s fine.” Again, her reply is curt and clipped. Her gaze is hard and steely and she stares straight ahead into the pages of her book. Seeing but not seeing.

 

“It’s about Dave, isn’t it?”

At those words, she starts crying. Great, heaving sobs that rack her entire body. You can do nothing but hold her as she bawls her eyes out.

 

You’ve met the original Dave before—he was loud and obnoxious and a huge asshole. He wore horrible shades all the time and had a terrible dress sense.

But he was Roses twin brother and (never admitted) best friend. They used to play together all the time. Rose even wrote a book about him (due to his insistence, but still)!

But then…when they were both sixteen. Dave committed suicide.

Rose stopped writing, stopped eating, stopped doing anything. She started drinking. It took everything you had to pull her out of her depression.

So now, having Dave walk back into her life must be so, so hard for her.

Especially for him not to be the one she grew up with.

 

“I’m so sorry Rosie-baby.”

“No.” She smiles at you, tears still streaming down her face. “I’m okay. Because this is a chance to start anew.”

 

 

 

 


	6. Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a filler really.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> As always, tell me what you think.

Your name is Dave Strider and you have never felt so comfortable and well rested in your life.

Seeing as you were a knight, and then an outlaw, you’ve never really had the chance to get a good night’s sleep. You always had to sleep with one eye open, in case you get stabbed in the back—literally. Bro drilled it into you that you have to wake early in the morning and go to bed late. It's a habit you've carried on throughout your life.

So, when you wake up at the time of nine am, you’re pleasantly surprised.

 

Sunlight shines in from the window above you. Birds are tweeting very loudly and obnoxiously outside as well. You move your hand so that you could maybe throw something at them, but it’s restricted from moving by an unknown object.

You look over to your side and you come to the embarrassing (and adorable) conclusion that you and John are holding hands.

 

You go to move your hands, but he lets out the cutest little snort mid-dream. You can’t bring yourself to move.

Instead, you decide to observe John as he sleeps.

Oh great now you sound like a fucking stalker.

 

His hand is soft and warm against yours. His fingers are chubby and squishy and fit perfectly with yours. You trace your thumb over the back of his hand affectionately.

Your eyes drift from your conjoined hands up to his face.

John’s stunning blue eyes are closed as he sleeps. The morning sunlight leaves dapples of light that flit across his features like butterflies in a field of flowers. His cheeks look adorable—pressed against the sheets and slightly drool covered.

His bed-head is possibly the cutest thing you have ever seen—and you have seen many, _many_ cute things in your lifetime. Most of the things on that list are John-related things.

He’s still clutching Inkstuck to his chest as tight as a drowning man would a life-saver. You think you understand his obsession with that book. You have the same obsession with Caledfwlch, your sword.

You like to keep it on you at all times, so that you can always be ready in case you’re under attack. Currently, it's propped up against your bed frame.

John’s glasses are off and lying on the bedside table next to a vase of flowers. Roses, you think, and smile at that little vase of irony.

Speaking of irony, isn’t it ironic that out of all the beautiful women, brave knights and hot damsels-in-distress in your land, you had to fall for someone who didn’t even live in your world. Someone who lived in a world where your world is a lie, a story made up to entertain children. Someone who lived in a world you don’t belong in.

 

You remind yourself for the millionth time that after you go kill Jack—you’re getting Read back in.

 

You give his hand an affectionate squeeze and let go of it, mustering the energy to get out of bed. As soon as you move however, two blank, purple eyes shoot up to stare at you.

Whisker stares at you with huge saucy eyes that seem to see everything at once. She was curled up by John’s side—but now she’s staring at you with an accusing look in her eyes.

 

“What? I need to do a piss.” You say, clutching your junk for emphasis.

 

If Pokémon could frown, this one was the Pokémon Frowning World Champion. Seriously, you’ve never seen any living creature frown this hard—ever.

 

“Whoa.” You say, holding up your hands in defence. “I’ve never seen anyone so angry at my need to take a dump.”

Whisker glares at you more and flicks her tail towards John.

“What? I really need to piss! He’ll be fine. It’s not like he’s going to be attacked or anything.”

Another tail flick. This time her tail lands on John.

“Ok ok, jeez you creepy ass motherfucking psychic cat thing. Goddamn.” You mutter, getting up out of bed.

 

Purposely avoiding Whiskers glare, you tuck John back into bed. He snuggles down a little, submerging himself into a cocoon. You chuckle a little at that, and before you can stop yourself, you place a gentle kiss on his forehead.

Upon realising what you’ve done, you quickly retract and hurry out of the room.

 

The blush forming on your cheeks is only because you’re furious with yourself. You can’t kiss John—you don’t belong here, with him. You only ran off because you need to pee, not because you were embarrassed or anything.

After a bit of opening and closing doors (like a chase scene in fucking Scooby-Doo) in hopes of finding a bathroom, you finally find one.

 

It’s a small and incredibly clean and luxurious thing. A shower cubicle is in the far right of the room. Many different perfumed soaps line the shelves, each in a different colour. A potted rose bush sits atop the toilet. Two more potted rose bushes line the porcelain sink—just like knights would stand beside their sovereign.

The whole room smells wonderfully feminine—of fruits and flowers.

Outside, you notice a balcony that overlooks the entire estate. It runs around the entire house from what you can see.

 

Because you’re a fucking man, you refuse to piss in comfort and luxury. You refuse to do your business like a normal, sanitary human being.

You’re going to piss off the fucking balcony.

 

So, you piss off the balcony.

It is a glorious piss too. The morning sun reflects in your piss causing rainbows to shine everywhere. Birds shriek at the yellow waterfall erupting from your dick.

It truly is a magnificent sight that only yourself and woodland creatures will ever see.

 

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t urinate on Kanaya’s rose garden. She does like them you know, and I think urine would absolutely ruin them.” A calm voice calls out from another balcony and you nearly shit yourself (you’ve already pissed yourself).

 

Rose is leaning against the balcony railing, staring at you with amusement in her violet eyes.

She’s wearing silken pyjamas that match her eyes. She’s not wearing any makeup, and you can see a light dusting of freckles on her dark skin. Her pale blonde hair is a little mussed from sleep, but still manages to look fashionable.

 

You shove your dick back in your pants and slowly turn around to face her.

“Actually, I wasn’t urinating on them.”

“You weren’t?” Rose raises an eyebrow at you.

“No. You see, from my dick flows the juices of life. I was gifting Kanaya’s roses with the power of my dick.”

“Ah. So you were gifting Kanaya’s roses with your magic life-jizz. My apologies. I thought you were pissing on the flowers but it turns out you were just _gifting_ them.” Her tone is sarcastic, but you act as though she’s being serious.

“Oh yeah. They looked a little too red so I had to yellowen them up somehow.”

“So you’re admitting to pissing on Kanaya’s roses.”

“No, I’m admitting to purifying them. They’re even more beautiful then before.”

 

Rose facepalms, looking so done with everything.

“I’m assuming pissing off the balcony is a show of your ‘manliness’.”

“Oh hell yea—“

“—or is it a show of over-compensating and trying to prove something? I mean, you must have quite the…balls…to do such a thing. Or do you? Perhaps it was too cold to see it properly, but your ‘life-jizzing’ penis does not look very life-giving.”

“Dude what. Are you saying my dick is small? What the fuck.”

“Oh!” Rose looks up, surprised. “I apologise. I wrote you after my brother and seeing you here reminds me of the conversations we had.”

“You had some weird ass conversations.”

 

Rose laughs dryly and looks up at the cloudless sky above.

“Yeah. We had some great conversations. But…I still had so much I needed to say. I wish I got the chance…”

An idea pops into your head.

 

Normally, you hate emotional bullshit. It makes you feel really awkward and kinda like a massive social outcast.

But Rose and Kanaya have been nothing but welcoming and kind. It is time you pay them back.

 

“You could um…project on me if you’d like? I mean, I’m kind of your brother—right? You did write me after him. It’ll help and all.” You suggest, shuffling your feet awkwardly.

Rose considers it, bringing her hand to her chin and scrunching her eyes up in thought.

But she turns to you, a determined look in her eyes.

“No. I-I can’t dump all that stuff on you. You may be my brother, but you’re not my brother. I got past all that years ago and I’d rather not have it all come back to haunt me. I still feel regret—sure, but I got though my depression and became stronger because of that. It's been over twenty years since he died.

If I say everything…I think I’ll break again, and I can’t…I _won’t_ let that happen.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She gives you a look. “It wasn’t you”

 

Your conversation lapses into silence.

Looking at Rose staring wistfully at the horizon makes you feel a little awkward, so you turn away.

In the distance, you can see the New York City skyline. It’s covered in a thick haze of early morning fog. You can hear the honking of cars and the squawking of birds. It’s pretty peaceful out there.

 

“Have you eaten yet?” Roses voice cuts through the silence like a knife through soft butter.

“Yes. I got me some nice pussy and—“

“I’ll take that as a no. Come on. I’ll make you something.”

“Ohh so classy, making me breakfast and everything.” You fake-swoon. Rose glares at you with the fury of a million exploding suns.

“Actually no. You can make your own breakfast. I’ll show you to the kitchen.”

 

She’s off in a swish of her night gown. She leads you through the twisted, artistic maze of the Lalonde-Maryam mansion.

Actually, you don’t really need her guidance. You can smell something absolutely delicious from what you only assume to be from the kitchen. With each passing step, the smell gets stronger and stronger.

Soon, the smell is so strong you know it’s through the next door. That is confirmed by Rose walking through the doorway, ushering you in.

 

The kitchen is sleek and furnished exactly like it would be in a furniture catalogue. Every surface is a shiny, tiled white. Several pots and pans line the shelves, so clean they look brand new. A TV is set up on the bench, playing a children’s cartoon. It wouldn’t be what you’d call ‘homey’ or ‘family friendly’ if it weren’t for the two people chatting excitedly and cooking pancakes.

 

John and Kanaya are cooking up stacks upon stacks of delicious flat-cakey goodness. Various jars and fruits are scattered around the bench, presumably to top the pancake stack.

Berries, sugar and sauces of all different shapes are all over the kitchen table alongside two huge stacks of pancakes.

 

Rose goes over to Kanaya and kisses her on the cheek.

“Aww baby, did you make this all for us?”

“No. I made this for breakfast.”

A pre-recorded laughter track plays from the TV.

“Man.” You say, sitting in front of one of the pancake stacks. “This is like a really shitty sitcom right now.”

 

John turns around, fry-pan full of pancake batter in his hand. His apron flies around his body as he moves.

“Dave. If you grew up in a TV-less world, how do you know what a sit-com is?”

“OMG John, you can’t just ask people why they know what a sit-com is!”

“Dave you aren’t from Mean Girls. You aren’t a girl—or mean.”

“Egbert I am so damn offended right now. My maiden honour—besmirched!” You say, clutching your chest dramatically.

“Alas! I have besmirched thy maiden honour. What shall I do to replenish it?” John replies in an equally dramatic voice. He flips the pancake in the air—it does a perfect 360 before landing batter-side-down and sizzling away.

“Make me a million pancakes, drizzled with the finest chocolate in the land.”

John smiles at you and stacks another five pancakes onto your already huge stack. He drizzles it with chocolate sauce and garnishes it with a fresh strawberry.

“M’lady.” He says, tipping an imaginary fedora your way.

 

You tip an imaginary one back and dig in. John goes back to flipping pancakes. Rose and Kanaya are busy talking over their own plates.

You turn your attention to the TV. It was playing some weird kids cartoon when you first came in the room, but now there’s an ad break.

John sits beside you, a plateful of pancakes in front of him. He brings a whole pancake to his mouth and begins chewing.

“Wow. This tastes really good.” He hums, swallowing the mouthful of pancake.

“John that’s so conceited. You sound like you’re trying to jerk yourself off with compliments.”

He squints at you through his glasses. “It’s called self-confidence—look it up.”

“Maybe I will.” You grab Inkstuck and begin flicking through its pages. “Oh look! Right here, that’s self-confidence.” You shove the book back at him, open at a page you’re sure that depicts your heroic self-confidence.

 

John laughs. “Oh boy, crying in a dark cave after the Fire Mage kicked your ass—classic self-confidence right there.”

“What!” You pull the book back to you. “That isn’t what happened. I totally owned that smoking hot babe.”

Sure enough, there it was. You were crying in a dark cave after a grizzled old man kicked your ass.

This is so embarrassing, you’re really cool dammit!

 

“Dave. The Fire Mage is a thousand-year-old man who eats his own shit because he thinks it’s good for him. Are you saying you’d tap that?”

“Hell yeah, who wouldn’t? I mean, everyone’s lusting after the magic witch babes, but what about those poor, blue-balled Fire Magicians? Gotta throw them a bone dude.”

“Ewww Dave, that’s disgusting! I don’t want to hear about your adventures lusting after wrinkly old man dick.” John’s nose is wrinkled up in disgust in the cutest possible way. You have to blink a few times to clear your thoughts of the adorable little boy in front of you.

“Hey, don’t judge my tastes. Maybe I like wrinkly old man dick. Maybe that’s it?”

“That’s bullshit, who would like wrinkly old man dick?”

“Well not small children that’s for sure.”

“Dave!” John kicks you under the table, staring at you with wide blue eyes.” Don’t say that! That’s horrible!”

“But it’s true. The same thing happens in my world as it does in yours.”

 

John looks down at the floor, a sad look in his face. “Let’s change the subject.”

“Agreed. How about we talk about the stuff I’ve done in my lifetime. I mean, stuff that isn’t written about.”

“Wow, now who’s conceited.” John giggles, absent-mindedly picking at a strawberry on his plate.

 

“I know.” Rose pipes up, an empty plate in front of her. “Let’s talk about Jack and our plan of attack.”

“So essentially, let’s talk about our Jack-attack.” You wink at her and she face-palms in response.

“Yes.” She sighs and raises her head off her hands. “Let’s talk about our Jack-attack.

 

 


	7. Jack-Attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Planning that Jack-attack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is half plot half filler.
> 
> Little bit of angst, so ya.
> 
> As always, enjoy and tell me what you think B33
> 
> Also if anyone has anymore lesbian sex jokes I'd love to hear them.

Your name is Rose Lalonde and you are planning your ‘Jack-Attack’.

 

It’s a terrible name, but Kanaya, John, Dave and Whisker all liked it. Which means you have to put up with it.

All four of them look so smug sitting there on the couch in front of you. You hate it.

 

“Alright, listen up. We need to plan this attack. First of all, we need Jack’s location.”

 

You’ve decided your knitting-needles are an excellent substitute for a laser-pointer. A thin trail of purple yarn hangs from the end of the right one. Whisker keeps batting it and toying with it. It makes you seem slightly less cool.

Behind you are multiple detailed maps from all over the world as well as blank pieces of paper.

 

“Well Rose, I believe that his location is possibly the most important thing to consider before Jack-attacking him.” Kanaya says, looking over a map that’s in her lap.

“But he teleported away! How are we supposed to know where he went?” John is peering over Kanaya’s shoulder at the map.

“Knowing that coward, he’s probably left a trail of bodies in his wake.” Dave crosses his arms and looks away.

 

You turn your knitting needles to Dave.

“You know what he’s like the most out of all of us. Do you think you’d be able to tell where he is?”

“With what? All I know is that he will kill anyone who gets in his way.” Dave backs away a little at your needle, but sits firm against John.

You nod in agreement. “He will. But perhaps we could use that to our advantage? Kanaya darling, could you check the news? There may be something we can use to pinpoint his location.”

“Already on it honey.” Kanaya has her laptop out on her lap and is typing away furiously.

 

After a few minutes of furious typing noises, Kanaya turns the laptop around so that its screen faces you.

On it is a series of articles. Each shows the descriptions of stab victims—or murdered citizens.

When you look closer at the article, you start to make connections.

 

“It starts here, in Washington. An elderly woman was stabbed and killed on the fourth of May.”

“That’s when I read Dave out!” John bursts out, looking around wildly with a horrified expression on his face.

“Then the killing tides gradually move across the country, until they reach…a place quite near here actually, what a convenience.”

 

“So, what’s the plan of Jack-attack?” Dave leans back on the couch, putting his arm over the shoulder of a distressed looking John.

“Well since we now have some idea of where he lurks, we’re going to go after him.”

“Obviously. But before we figure out exactly _how_ we’re doing this, I want you all to know this.” Dave unsheathes Caledfwlch and places it on his lap. It shines dully in the living-room light. “Jack is mine. I’m killing him. Caledfwlch hungers for his blood on its blade—I can feel it. I have been hunting him for months. I will stop his heart like he stopped my brothers’.” His voice lowers, deadly serious.

John pats Dave's hand with an expression of concern on his face.

 

“Right, well we got that cleared up!” You say, clapping your hands in an attempt to dispel the sudden foul atmosphere. “But we still need a plan.”

“Do you have any ideas?” Kanaya asks, still half-immersed in her laptop.

“Of course I do. I have many plans. All of which will probably work.”

“Just tell me one. I know how many plans you get at once and it will dissolve into one huge, confusing mess all at once.”

“Well first of all, two of us—preferably you and myself—will do stakeout and search around the general area we think Jack is in. Then, we gather weapons and storm that castle. Kind of an improvisation thing. I’ll work it out further as we plan more.”

 

Kanaya nods in agreement. “That could work. And I’d love to spend some good quality time with you.” She winks and you can’t help but blush.

Unfortunately for you, Dave has now put his mask-of-asshole back on and is raring to be an even bigger asshole than ever. “Ayyy yo John that’s slang for ‘they gonna bone’.”

“But Dave, they’re both women, they don’t bone. They make _mammaries_ in-between the sheets.”

“Patting Cats.”

“Feeding the Pussies.”

“Becoming _Breast_ Friends.”

“Drowning in Each Other.”

“Eating Out—In Style.”

“Eating Out—In the City”

“Eating Out—Underwater Adventures.”

“Eating Out—Date Nig—“

“—Anymore lesbian sex jokes and you will regret it.” You interject, jabbing a knitting-needle their way.

 

They shut up after that.

 

Your brilliant plan to ‘Jack-Attack’ has only just begun.

 

 

Your name is John Egbert and you think making food is actually really therapeutic.

Especially when you’re stressed about letting a deranged killer into the world. You mean, Jack _stabbed_ an old lady.

A poor, defenceless little old lady!

It’s all your fault.

 

You smash the knife down hard on the tomato you’re currently chopping up to make a salad. It’s a little more forceful then you thought it would be and tomato juice splatters all over the walls.

 

“You are being a little aggressive with those tomatoes. What did they do to you?” A familiar and vaguely amused voice speaks up behind you.

“Tomatoes know what they did.” You say bitterly, turning to face Kanaya.

“Still no reason to splatter my kitchen with tomato juice.” Kanaya muses, looking at the tomato-dripping walls with disdain.

“S-sorry…I’m just a bit upset.” Your stutter comes back, much to your annoyance.

“I can see that. The evidence is _literally_ written on the walls.”

 

You chuckle a little sheepishly and rub the back of your head.

“Anyway love, what’s bothering you?” Kanaya asks, picking out a piece of lettuce from the salad bowl.

You look down at the ground, staring down at the linoleum tiles as if they show some great secret.

“John lovely, you don’t look very well. Tell me what the matter is.” Kanaya insists, a gentle forcefulness in her voice.

“I-It’s just…A-all those people. T-they died because of m-me.” You manage to stutter out before the tears star coming.

You hear a gasp of shock and hear the swishing of long skirts. In your peripheral vision, you see the familiar red, green, white, black and gold of Kanaya’s skirt.

She kneels beside you and rubs your back as sobs rack your body.

 

“It’s all my f-fault. If I h-hadn’t read Dave and J-Jack out…then they wouldn’t be d-dead.”

“John honey, no. Don’t think that. Look at me.” Kanaya lifts up her fingers and raises her chin to your eye level. “You didn’t brandish the knife. You didn’t kill those people. Jack did.”

“But I let him into this world.”

“Under the directions of your mother, who, from which I can tell, is a terrible person.”

“W-well yes b-but”

“No buts. Alright? It was not your fault. Jack was the one that killed them.” Her arms wrap around you in a bone-crushing hug. You hug her back with almost no hesitation.

 

“Thanks Kanaya.” You say, pulling away from a very long hug. “I feel a little better now.”

“That’s fine lovely. I hate to see it when the people I care about cry.”

“….You care about me?” You whisper, shocked.

 

You’ve only known Kanaya for less than twenty-four hours and she already cares more about you then your biological mother. You can’t understand it. What’s so good about you?

You’re nerdy and ugly and fat. You get reminded of these facts every time you look in the mirror. You have extremely low self-esteem because of years of abuse by your mother.

No ones’ ever really _liked_ you before you Read Dave out.

Kids are cruel, especially to kids who are different. Mother was especially cruel. After your father died, mother showed her true colours. You’d rather not think about what she did to you.

But then you Read Dave out, and he _stayed_ when you passed out when he could’ve tracked Jack down. Behind his asshole façade, you can tell he really cares about you.

Kanaya let you into her home and life just because you said you had nowhere to sleep. The two of you could’ve easily attacked her—Dave even had a sword on him at the time. (Dave has his sword on him all the time, just like you have Inkstuck on you all the time.)

Rose accepted you into her household just like Kanaya. Sure she’s more than a little nosey, but she means well.

They’re kind of like the mother(s) and best friend you never had.

 

“Of course I do, and so does Rose. We care about you very much.” Kanaya smiles down at you

You figured that they somewhat liked you, but hearing the proof from Kanaya’s mouth is enough to set you off again.

But these are happy tears this time.

 

“Thanks Kanaya”

“Don’t thank me for caring about you.” Kanaya replies, hugging you again. “We chose to care about you.”

 

“Oh god, you’re crying. This is like a scene from a really bad porno. Like; ‘old lady takes pity on young crying boy who has a boner deficiency’” Dave takes this opportunity to completely ruin your heartfelt moment. He saunters through the kitchen doorway.

“Old Lady?” Kanaya questions, offended. But her outraged tone is ignored.

“Boner deficiency?” You ask, giving Dave a weird look. He shrugs, grabbing an apple from a nearby fruit-bowl and taking a bite.

“I dunno Egbert, erectile dysfunction or some shit? Don’t expect me to know. Grew up without computers and all that shit.”

“Well how do you know what porn is without computers?”

Dave gives you a _**look.** _ He lifts his shades up onto his head, cocks his head to one side and stares at you with an annoyed gaze.

“Egbert. I was a _knight._ Yeah we served the king, but others served us, if you get my drift.”

 

The look on you face must be one of pure disgust, because Dave starts laughing. His face screws up a little in the cutest way. His shoulders shake and he has to clutch his stomach to stop himself shaking too much. Once he’s done, he speaks up again.

“Why the face Egbert? Shocked that I can get some and you can’t?”

Now you’re laughing uncontrollably. You must look a sight—cheeks damp from crying, eyes red and sore and your entire body is shaking with laughter.

“Hey! I’ll have you know _all_ the ladies are clamouring after my dick. I open the windows of my house and it’s just like that scene from ‘Life of Brian’. All these ladies are standing below, ogling my fucking dick as it hangs there in all its glory.”

“How do you even know what Monty Python is?”

“No idea. References I don’t even get pop up in my head all the goddamn time. Probably Rose plugging in all that shit so I can be more like her brother or some shit.”

 

Out of the corner of your eyes, you spot Kanaya nodding in agreement and muttering to herself.

“Anyway, Dave. What are you in for? I thought you were helping Rose with her plans and stuff.”

“I gotta get food because Rose needs a break.”

“From you or from planning the Jack-attack?”

“Probably both.”

 

You chuckle a little at that and hand him two sandwiches.

“Here. These should help. I’ll make some hot chocolate or some other drink if you’d like.”

 

He reaches to take them and smiles at you. Your fingers touch as you hand over the sandwich plate. The two of you stand like that for a few minutes—hands touching and staring into each-other’s eyes.

His eyes are so pretty and expressive. They’re not just a startling red—they’ve got hints of subtle golds and sunset oranges and rose pinks. These colours are mixed in with what seems to be every shade of red.

They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul. If that’s true then Dave’s soul is the most beautiful soul in existence.

They’re absolutely wonderful.

 

He leans forward a little bit, with intentions you can’t see clearly. You can feel his breath against your cheek. You can see individual pores on his skin. The two of you are so close your lips are almost brushing.

 

Then, he stops and dark glass falls over his eyes again, shielding his true emotions from the world. He pulls back and takes the sandwiches.

“Umm…thanks. For the offer. I think Rose needs a caffeine fix. I’ll be fine though.” He mutters, seemingly apologising for something before hurrying off.

 

You turn to Kanaya, at a loss for what to do.

She smirks, looking at your blushing cheeks.

“So, Dave huh?”

“Shut up…” You blush harder, but smile anyway.

She nudge you with her elbow and begins to help you with your cooking. While the two of you work, Kanaya semi-interrogates you on your crush. You don’t mind.

You guess you have lunches to pack for the lucky two (Rose and Kanaya) who get to stake-out together.

Better make them the best sandwiches ever.

 

 

Your name is Dave Strider and planning these kinds of things are pretty boring.

 

Well, you’re not planning. Rose is.

But it’s still boring. Especially when Rose won’t let you draw on the whiteboard ‘Because I said so’.

 

So you have to sit down and listen as she drones on and on about possible Jack locations and what to do once we find him.

You took a break half an hour ago and now you’re right back into it.

 

Speaking of your break, it was possibly the most mortifying situation you have ever been in (and you’ve been in a lot of mortifying situations before.)

You and John brushed hands on a fucking paper plate of sandwiches like this was some shitty fucking fanfiction. You stared into each other’s eyes and it was the most cliché bullshit to have ever cliché bullshitted.

He stared at you like you were something special, like you were something beautiful.

You had to remind yourself for the millionth time that you can’t try anything.

You nearly kissed him.

You didn’t mean to—you were caught up in the shitty fanfic aura and before you knew it you were leaning forward and he was so close you could almost taste it. You nearly did taste him, but you have more self-control than that.

You couldn’t do that to him.

So you ran off and embarrassed yourself even further.

Honestly, you’re pretty pathetic.

 

“Dave! Are you even listening? This is very important to know if you’re the one to kill Jack.” Rose folds her arms and glares at you, Whisker batting a bit of string dangling from her knitting needle.

“Totally. I kill Jack. That’s the plan.” You nod as if you understand everything (you don’t).

Rose sighs and walks over to the couch, sitting beside you. She buries her face in her hands as one would bury a human corpse into the Earth.

“You weren’t listening to a word I said—were you?”

“Nope. I was not.” You admit, shrugging at her.

She nudges the empty coffee cup with her feet. “You were a little pre-occupied before, but ever since you came back from break, you’ve been acting jumpy and distant. May I suggest there’s trouble in paradise?”

“Trouble in Paradise? What the fuck? John and I aren’t dating.”

“I never mentioned John.” Rose says, and you can hear the smirk in her voice, the cocky mother-fucking bastard.

 

“Shit.” You mutter under your breath as you probably turn redder than a tomato.

Rose laughs and places a manicured hand on your knee. “I see you have feelings for him. And you’re too shy to admit them. Or perhaps you are being internally homophobic? Well Dave, let me say that being gay is perfectly okay. I myself am homosexual—and so is my wife. You may be in denial now but—“

“What the fuck Rose? It’s not my ‘internalized homophobia’ or whatever. It’s something entirely different. And I don’t like him like that!” You push yourself off the couch, ignoring her amused stare. In a huff, you walk out of the living room. Preferably, you’ll end up somewhere in the house that’s far away from meddling sort-of-sisters, cute boys and concerned meddling mother figures.

“Denial is the first step to acceptance David.” She hums after your retreating back.

You only stick the middle finger up in response.

You hear her chuckles echo behind you as you walk away.

 

You _can’t_ love John. You just fucking _can’t._

You were born and belong in different worlds. If you weren’t—oh if you weren’t.

You’d protect him from his mother and those asshole bullies if you were born in this world. The two of you would stay up all night texting each other. You'd go on more road trips. You'd binge watch TV shows and actually get the references you continuously spout out. You would have sleepovers and hang out and ~~maybe kiss under the stars or somewhere equally romantic~~.

You’d show him the Mysterious Singing Cliffs on the Dersian shoreline and the Crystal Fortune-Telling Caves of Prospit if he was born in your world. You’d teach him magic, and he’d teach you to cook exquisite meals fit for a king. You’d go adventuring together. You'd save innocent villagers and be heroic assholes.

But you weren’t born in the same world, so you can’t do all that. You have to leave him behind to continue your shitty little adventure called life.

 

The very thought of leaving him makes you feel incomprehensible rage and sadness.

But you have to leave him…

 You don't belong here.

 

 

 


	8. Date Day?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mum and mum aren't home~ Let's fucking sin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a.k.a Rose and Kanaya go murderer hunting so John and Dave build a blanket fort

Your name is Kanaya Maryam and you feel a little worried right now.

But who can blame you? You’re leaving your children behind as you and your wife go serial killer hunting.

It sounds very much like something an irresponsible parent would do.

 

“Now you two be careful alright? There’s food in the fridge because we probably won’t get back before dinner. Remember to set up your electric blankets—you’ll need them because it gets cold at night here.”

“Yeah mum.” Dave says sarcastically, rolling his eyes at you under his shades.

“Well I’m sorry for being concerned about your well-being. My mistake. I’ll try not to disturb you with the burden of me caring ever again.” You say, sniffing in mock sadness.

“Don’t worry mum, we’ll be fine. I’ll keep him out of trouble.” John chirps, taking Dave’s hand and giving you a cheery smile.

 

“Awwww! That’s so sweet.” You say happily. Not matter how sarcastically they said it, they still called you ‘mum’. “Goodbye babies, have fun.”

Ignoring their (Dave’s) protests, you sweep them into a huge bear hug.

 

You can feel Roses impatient aura because she’s right behind you. She grabs your hand and tugs you away a little bit.

“Come on Kanaya. We have to go.” She turns her attention to John and Dave, fixing them with a stern stare. “Like Kanaya said, you be good. Also keep out of my study.”

“Don’t worry, we will! Goodbye you guys!” John smiles and waves as you hug them one last time and head off to the car.

 

You get in the front seat, and Rose settles down on the passenger’s side, amongst hundreds of maps and blank sheets of paper. They seem to swallow her whole, what with the sheer amount of paper there is.

You honk your car horn in farewell as you drive down the street. You can see their retreating forms waving at you in the side-mirror.

 

“I really hope they don’t blow up our house.” Rose sighs, moving maps and paper to the back seat.

“They won’t blow up our house.”

Rose gives you a _look_.

“Rose, you’re overacting. When we come back, it won’t be destroyed. I’ll even bet ten bucks on it.”

“You’re that confident in their non-destructive tendencies? I saw Dave microwaving his sword yesterday—it’s a miracle the house didn’t explode. Never mind the fact that the sword was fine throughout the ordeal.”

“I swear that child is just like a toddler sometimes.”

“Don’t you mean all the time?” Rose laughs.

 

Outside, it starts to rain. The windshield wipers swish from side to side, flicking droplets of water off the car windshield and onto the road.

 

You turn down a main highway into a more rural, rocky road, smiling to yourself. This road is your first lead.

The two of you discuss the stupid antics of the two boys under your care as you travel down the first road. Hopefully, you’ll find out where Jack is pretty soon.

You’re just at the point of conversation where you’re discussing how exactly two boys can be so dense when you come across a dead end.

“Well I guess this isn’t the place, guess we have to turn around now.” Rose sighs, shifting the map on the car dashboard so she could get a better look. “Here we are. Let’s go back and search this road.” She points to a certain spot on the map.

 

‘This Road’ also turned out to be empty of any Jacks. Which was frustrating, but once again left you time for chatting. This time, you were having a detailed conversation about the joke that is the 2016 Presidential Race when you reached the dead end in the road.

“Third time lucky huh?” Rose jokes.

“Yeah well let’s hope so. It better not better not be on the fourth time. That will not be lucky.”

 

Luckily for everyone’s sake, third time is indeed lucky.

First, you began to notice strange men on the side of the road talking on their cell-phones, even though it’s raining. Then, you notice more obscure details. Like how every road-side creatures eyes seem to follow your car. Which is incredibly creepy and unsettling.

You’re certain Jack’s hideout is near here.

The two of you have to ditch the car so that you won’t be spotted any more than you already have.

The rain has let up by now, and everything drips glistening drops of water.

 

Eventually, after around half an hour of walking through the drenched forest, you come across a field.

Well it’s more vast empty plains than a clearing.

Empty except for one thing.

A large, foreboding castle on top of a large hill in the middle of the field.

 

The details are hard to make out in the evening light, but you can see patrolling figures around the base of the castle. It looks like a stereotypical villain hideout, complete with lit torches and everything. It’s European-style and pretty big, and you’re sure it’s a new addition to this vast, empty field.

But how was it erected so fast? It’s only been about two weeks.

 

“Magic.” Rose answers your unspoken question. “He used magic to make henchmen and this hide-out.”

“What, so it’s all sustained by his willpower or something?”

“No. His magic. It’s a thoughtless thing, integrated into his very being. It’s the same thing as raising an arm to you and I—it’s happening, and your brain is making it happen through a working of complex muscles and thought processes, but it’s an unconscious motion.”

“Oh…right. Well I guess we found his hide-out. Now we’ve got to regroup and activate plan Jack-Attack.”

Rose nods, pale hair bobbing along with the movement.

The only thing to do now is to regroup and begin your Jack-Attack.

 

 

Your name is John Egbert and you are ‘Home Alone’ with Dave.

Who is currently watching as the Lalonde-Maryams drive down the street and out of sight. As soon as their car disappears, he turns to you with a huge shit-eating grin on his face.

 

“Hey John, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“I don’t know, what _are_ you thinking Dave?”

“Well let’s say it together after three. Ready? One…Two…Three.”

“Blanket-fort with movie marathon!—“ You cry out excitedly at the same time Dave says “—Massive furry orgy!”

“Wait what?”

“What? Are you kink shaming me?” Dave looks so offended right there you can’t help but laugh at his stunned face.

“Yeah I’m totally kink shaming you.”

Dave gasps, putting his hand on his chest and opens his mouth in mock shock.

“But Egbert, I totally saw you fricking the frack with yourself to a kids cartoon.”

Now it’s your turn to gasp in mock shock.

“How dare you! Anime is the purest art form to grace this earth.”

Dave wrinkles up his nose in disgust. “Egbert no. Anime is sin and so are you.”

“Oh Dave, are you saying you’re tempted by my sinfulness?” You give him an awkward wink which promptly turns him beet-red.

“N-No! Not at all.” He splutters out, spraying you with salvia. “Come on, let’s just do your stupid movie marathon.”

 

He storms off back into the house. You hurry after him, wiping saliva off your cheek.

“Great! You find the blankets and I’ll set up the movies, ok?” You say.

Dave disappears off to presumably raid the linen closet. You head towards the TV, where you assumed the movie stack was. Because that’s where normal people put their movies.

Unfortunately for your entire days plans, the Lalonde-Maryams aren’t normal people.

Instead of stacks and stacks of glorious movies, there’s books.

You’re pretty sure the amount of books on these shelves could equal an entire libraries worth of books.

From what you can see, there’s books on nearly every subject. Mainly wizards, clothing and gardening.

You guess you can expect that from an author, but still.

 

Awkwardly, you lean back a bit from the couch.

What are you going to do now? The Lalonde-Maryams don’t have any video game consoles or movies. You guess you could explore the garden…

But when you look out a window, you notice dark storm clouds and hear the wind pick up through the trees. It begins raining-thick, fat droplets cascading from the sky and hitting the window pane.

Guess that’s a no then.

 

By now, Dave has returned, bearing pillows and blankets. You turn to look at him sullenly.

“Looks like our plans have been vanquished by the Lalonde-Maryams love of books over movies.” You gesture towards the movie-less shelves.

You hear the ‘thump’ of dumped down sheets and pillows.

“Well shit Egbert, way to ruin the fucking day.”

“Hey! How is this my fault?”

“You existed.”

“Oh, yeah that makes sense.”

“It does, doesn’t it?”

You chuckle at him and get up.

“So we still doing the blanket fort?”

“Um? Hell yes? It’s stormy outside and there’s no better fucking time. We’re doing this bro.”

“We’re making this happen.” You finish his sentence for him. He gasps in mock shock, hand over his mouth.

 

You walk over to the pile of blankets Dave dumped on the floor, nudging a fluorescent yellow one with your foot.

“So how are we going to do this? Do you have a PhD in blanket-fort making like you do in everything else?” You ask, the compliment-flirt a little awkward coming from your lips.

“Oh hell yeah, I am the absolute _best_ at making blanket forts. Watch me and be amazed as always.” He waves an invisible wand and walks over to the coffee table.

“Ok Egbert, first, help me move this table.” Obediently, you scurry over. Together, you grip the table and lift it to one side.

 

It is at this point that you realise that Whisker is in the room. Before, she was contentedly resting on the couch, curled up amongst the cushions.

However, she had been awoken from her slumber from your coffee-table movement. She turns blank, knowing eyes towards the two of you.

“Oh! Hey Whisker. We didn’t see you there, sorry for waking you up!” You walk over to Whisker and sit beside her. She purrs, long and loud as you reach your hand down and start stroking her soft, sensitive fur.

“We’re building a pillow fort, do you want to join us?”

 

“John, John please don’t ask the creepy psychic cat to join us.” Dave says, clutching a fluffy pink blanket.

“It’s too late Dave, the creepy psychic cat is already here.” Whisker, reading your mind (literally), uses her psychic abilities to make your eyes glow and you to hover off the couch a little.

Dave takes a step back and throws the blanket at you.

It successfully knocks you out of the air and you go down, howling with laughter as you hit the deck.

“Kill two birds with one stone huh?” Dave smirks at you.

“Blanket fight!” You cry out, throwing the blanket back at him.

“Oh you are so on Egbert. I’m bringing you down, girls sleepover style” He calls back, readying a pillow.

You ready one of your own, brandishing it in a way that you hope seems threatening.

The two of you begin your epic, girls-sleepover-style pillow fight.

You’ll leave it to the imagination, but there was a lot of screeching, laughing and yelling.

But then, much to your horror, your pillow flies out of your grasp. It hurtles towards the mantelpiece, where what you assume to be an urn is placed carefully. With a huge ‘bang’, the pillow knocks the urn off the mantle. Tie itself seems to slow down. You and Dave both let out silent screams of terror. The urn hurtles towards the floor…and then it doesn’t.

Whisker is using telekinesis to keep the urn hovering safe in the air.

Shakily, it begins to rise back to its original resting place.

 

It settles back down, and the three of you breathe out sighs of relief.

“Thanks Whisker, you really saved our asses.”

 

After that, you built the blanket fort pretty much disaster free.

 

Now, the two of you are lying side by side on the fluffy pink blanket. Whisker was lying beside you, purring.

Because you have nothing better to do, you’re telling stories to each other.

 

“So this guy like, wouldn’t stop following me, right? It’s like I was some fucking chump who was going to buy his shitty fucking lettuce. He even followed me into the Mount Moon volcanic crater—that’s how desperate he was for me to buy his fucking lettuce.”

“Well did you buy his lettuce? It would seem rude not to after he followed you all that way.”

“Yeah, just to get him to fuck off. But it was fucking enchanted—shit turned me into a fucking rabbit! Do you know how humiliating that was John? How fucking bad I looked?”

 

You’ve read this story before, many times. But hearing it come from Dave’s mouth himself made everything so much better.

 

“I can picture it now—a fluffy little white bunny with shades and a tiny sword and lettuce leaves sticking out of his mouth!” You turn your head to stare at his screwed-up face.

“Now I regret telling you about this shit. You gotta tell me one of yours.”

 

“Aw, but I’m enjoying your stories!”

“Too bad. No more Dave stories until Dave hears a John story.”

“I don’t have any stories to tell.”

“Just do it Egbert, I'm sure you'll think of something.”

 

You let out a loud sigh.

It’s true when you said you had no stories to tell. Well, none like Dave’s anyway. None that would interest someone as amazing as him.

But, maybe there would be one story he would listen to…

 

“Um…ten years ago, when I was six, my father died of cancer. As a parting gift, he gave me a present—a book called ‘Inkstuck’. He said to treasure it always, so I did. My mother was…a cruel woman. The only reason she didn't burn the book herself was because of its rarity--something to boast about and show off. She’d hit me and tell me I was fat and dumb and useless everyday. I'd rather not talk about her. 

But Inkstuck helped me, you see? I felt so much better reading about the brave tales of a rogue knight on an epic quest to avenge his brother. I managed to forget everything she told me. It gave me an escape—if only for a little while. So I…I want to thank you for that. For helping me through it all.”

 

You were so engrossed in telling your story, you didn’t even notice how close Dave was.

Your lips are practically pressed against each other, they’re that close.

“You’re welcome.” He whispers and leans forward, pressing our lips close together.

 

It’s a mess of inexperience teeth and hands and lips, but it’s absolutely perfect. His lips tastes of overly-sweet, watered-down apple juice, but to you, he tastes amazing. You’ve closed your eyes long before this point, but you can hear (and feel) your glasses-and-shades clinking together.

It wouldn’t be what one would consider the ‘perfect first kiss’, but you think it fulfils all the fantasies those teenage girls (and boys) possess.

You never want it to end.

 

Unfortunately for you, it does end, in the form of Dave pushing you away.

He’s staring down at you with thinly-veiled disgust and muttering things to himself. His palms are in front of his eyes, raised as if  to backhand someone. You can make out bare whispers of ‘no nO NO’ and ‘that is disgusting, how could you?’ You flinch away from those words, terrified he might hit you. He certainly looks like he’d do it.

Whisker jumps to your rescue, a low growl in her throat.

Dave backs away, and in a flash he’s gone.

All you can do is apologise over and over again after the empty he once occupied.

 

You curl up in the once-cosy blanket fort and sob and sob and sob. Whisker licks all the tears she can from your cheek, but they just keep coming.

Even when the rain stops you can’t stop. Even when the sun sets and the moon rises you can't stop either.

 

Dave hates you.

He must've just been lying when he said he liked you.

He called you disgusting and looked at you like you were the scum of the earth. He might've even hit you!

But...you guess after all that, you still can't hate him. He's the best (and only) friend you've ever had.

 

You still love him.

 

But your heart is still broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also bad angst is bad :/
> 
> BTW, Dave was not going to hit John, he was staring down at himself in disgust and John misread the situation.  
> All is well(ish lol)


	9. Ascend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose, John, Kanaya and Whisker fight their way through hoards of enemies so that dave can finally fulfil his life goal of murder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooooooh second last one guys!  
> But don't worry, there will the a second part in this series :)
> 
> As always, enjoy and tell me what you think!

Your name is Kanaya Maryam, and traipsing through the forest undergrowth in a long skirt was not your best idea yet.

But, one must suffer for their art, so suffer you must.

 

The rest of your travelling companions had much more sense than you. They’re all wearing black, loose fitting clothes that helps blend them in with the forest around them. They sneak silently throughout the underbush, which is…unusual.

Not for Rose of course—she’s incredibly quiet and sneaky. You can’t count how many times she’s snuck up unheard behind you.

Whisker is also silent. The lithe Pokémon gracefully leaps from rock to branch as if she has been doing this all her life.  Which...she probably has, considering she's a wild Pokémon.

But for John and Dave.

 

They’ve been dead silent ever since you came back to the house. Normally, they’d be talking and flirting and blowing your cover. Now, they’re refusing to even look at each other.

 

( _Obvious tear tracks ran down both of their cheeks. John’s eyes are red and puffy from hours of crying. His cheeks are blotchy and pale. He looks downright miserable standing there with Whisker in his arms._

_Dave’s are less so, but they look like they’ve been scrubbed clean with soap and water. He looks a little constipated, like he’s struggling not to have an emotional outburst of verbal shit and its killing him._

_Both boys are avoiding eye contact and completely silent._

_You wonder what happened._ )

 

You curl your fingers around the tube of lipstick in your palm. Its surface is smooth and solid, comforting in your trembling hand.

Hidden in the intricate workings off this tube of lipstick is a chainsaw.

Your sister gave it to you as a gift for your 16th birthday. You never thought that you’d need it. Guess you were wrong.

 

( _“So, in order to launch a proper full frontal attack, we need weapons.” Rose begins, standing in front of an unassuming basement door._

_“I already have a weapon.” Dave breaks his own oath of silence to point to Caledfwlch._

_John looks at him a little longingly, a hand pressed to his mouth, as if the urge to make a dick joke was so strong, the only thing to stop it bursting from his lips was his own palm._

_“I am very well aware of this fact Dave. But the rest of us don’t” Rose replies. She reaches a steady hand towards the door handle, turning it with determined fingers. She throws open the door and steps inside._

_“So this is why we have this room.”_

_Inside are rows upon rows of weapons. It’s like a hidden room in a good old-fashioned spy movie. There are training dummies, as well as swords, guns, whips, bows, arrows, staffs of every kind. It’s like a weapon nuts wet dream.)_

Ahead, John jumps over a log with a sort of…clumsy grace. You don’t know how that works, but John makes it work.

Dave is in front of John, and Rose is leading the whole progression. You’re at the very end to make sure no one falls behind. Whisker is trotting contentedly by your side, tail waving about in the air lazily.

 

Beside you, a bush rustles. Your hand tightens around your lipstick tube and Whisker hisses at the bush, but John’s got this.

He whips around so that you can no longer see the copy of Inkstuck strapped to his back—instead you can see his steely, determined face. A heavy blue hammer is held tightly in his grasp.

 

( _“Hey, this is pretty cool.” John says, holding a dark blue hammer with a look of awe on his face._

_“Well then, do you want it? Dave said you were pretty good with that book. That hammer should be a piece of cake for you to wield.” Rose smiles down at him._

_“Really?” John’s eyes light up and his mouth splits into a huge grin._

_“Of course dear, but be sure to get lots of practice before we set out.”_

_John runs off to practice on the training dummies.)_

False alarm. It was just a rabbit.

 

“Good work John. You defended us from an evil rabbit.” You smile at him, a joking tone in your voice.

He smiles at you, a little awkwardly. “Thanks Kanaya.”

 

“There! Up ahead!” Rose hisses from up the front.

You stare through the thick covering of trees, spotting the all-too-familiar castle in the distance.

Now you just have to fight your way inside and get Dave to Jack, so he can kill him.

 

 

Your name is Rose Lalonde, and you must ascend.

 

“Alright, bye guys. Gotta go avenge my brother, you know how it goes. Great knowing you.” Dave tips an invisible hat your way and zooms off, speed magic enhancing his already swift movements.

“Dave wait!” John calls out, but it is futile. “Be careful…” He mumbles after Dave’s retreating back.

 

“Well, I guess Dave’s in.” You sigh, brushing your fingers over your knitting needles.

You’ve decided they’re going to be your weapons because John said you can’t fight with knitting needles. You’re a very spiteful person.

 

“I wish he would stop running off like that…” John mutters, staring at his feet.

“Ah well, Dave excels at attracting trouble. He will probably need our help in getting him out of trouble.” You sigh yet again, looking back at John and Kanaya who’ve just walked up to join you.

“I suppose that means fighting our way through hordes of magically enhanced enemies just to have to fight more?” Kanaya asks.

“Well yes, that’s what family does, doesn’t it?”

Johns eyes widen under black-rimmed lenses.

“We’re a family?”

The excitement in his eyes makes your stone-cold heart crack a little.

“Of course honey, ohana means family, and family means no one gets left behind.” You crouch down a little to match his eye level.

“Or forgotten.” Kanaya continues, smiling at John.

The grin on his face splits from ear to ear. He looks so happy.

 

“John, before we go out for our family, I want you to know that you’re always welcome to stay at our house.”

He smiles happily. “Really? Thanks. It’ll be really nice to hang out with the both of you more.”

“No no John, you misunderstand. By stay, I mean live at. We’re offering whether or not you want to live with us after all this is over.”

If possible, his face sets into an even wider grin. Before you can even react, he’s thrown his arms around the both of you into a big hug.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” You chuckle, rubbing his back affectionately.

 

“Rose, we’ve got company.” Kanaya speaks up.

You break away from the hug and tur towards the castle.

Kanaya is right—several henchmen are running towards you right now, brandishing huge weapons and letting out animalistic snarls.

“Well,” You say, gripping your knitting needles tightly. “Let’s show them what this family can do.”

 

 

Your name is Dave Strider and you can’t think that clearly right now.

 

Speed magic tends to do that—you need all of your concentration to not crash into a wall. Because of this, you can’t _think_ about anything. Which, right now, isn’t a bad thing.

You kind of sped away for a reason.

Reasons which you can’t remember right now, but reasons nonetheless.

 

All that matters now is finding Jack.

You’ve tuned your senses on anyone possessing the same (or more) amount of magic as you.

In your internal radar, you can see two blips.

You know one is Jack. You don’t care about the other.

 

You can sense his aura getting closer as you speed down the hall.

Not long no and—ah. There he is.

 

He’s standing in front of a huge window, staring down at the plains below. As you enter, he turns around to meet you.

 

“Ah, Mr Strider, I’ve been expecting you…” His voice is calm and soothing, but you can hear the deceit and murderous intent hidden in its depths

“Stalker much?” You draw your sword and point it at him.

“I’m assuming you don’t want to talk this out?”

“With you? Not a chance.”

 

With no warning, he leaps at you, brandishing a sword. You barely block in time. He swipes again, but this time you’re ready. You strike back and your swords clash together.

He smirks, waving his free hand about. With a flick of the risk, the stench of black liquorice fills the room. A cloud of thick black smoke fills the room. When it clears, you can see something familiar sitting in the palm of his hand.

Bro’s shades, still encrusted with his blood.

You let out a snarl of rage and twist the fingers in your free hand, readying a fistful of fire. This fire isn’t like the fire you showed John. That fire was warm and friendly and meant to amaze. This fire is hot and angry and meant to maim.

You strike him, flames surging from your fist. They lick his face, causing him to writhe and scream. He staggers back, clutching his right eye, and you take this opportunity to point your sword to his throat.

 

“Give up you filthy mongrel, I’ve got you at my mercy.”

Jack puts his hands up, looking at you. His right eye is horrifically burnt—so much you doubt he can see anymore. The room is filled with the stench of apples, liquorice and burnt flesh.

To your surprise, Jack starts laughing.

“What the fuck is so funny?” You shriek, thrusting your sword in his direction.

He doesn’t answer, only laughs harder.

“Answer me!” You yell louder, striking him this time. A trickle of blood runs down his scorched cheek.

He keeps laughing.

 

Furious, you stab him, digging your sword into his shoulder. He screeches in agony as you yell at him, screaming over Jack.

“Tell me!”

He laughs harder, blood flowing freely from his various stab-wounds.

 

After a few minutes of more psychotic laughter, he finally stops.

“It’s just, you want to leave this place?”

That was…not what you were expecting.

“What the fuck do you mean?”

“I mean, this place is amazing! Why would you ever want to leave it?”

At the cocking of your confused head, he continues.

“This place has everything! Women, riches, people to stab—it’s paradise! Best of all, no one here has magic—so I can use mine and be considered a god! I don’t understand why you’d ever want to leave it.”

You look away, refusing to look this murderer in the eye.

“That’s none of your concern. But you will be leaving this world very soon.” You push your sword to his throat.

 

His remaining eye lights up.

“What, you’re seriously leaving? HA. That’s golden. What was it? Did that little boy hurt your feelings? Did you realise he only using you?”

“Shut the fuck up you piece of shit.” You growl.

 

John is none of his business.

John is precious and pure—you will not let this scumbag tarnish any of that. John would never use you—for anything. He is sweet and innocent and you love him more than anything else.

But after the way you treated him yesterday, you doubt he’d ever speak to you again.

You didn't miss his little hums and sighs of contentment as you kissed him. You didn't miss how he smiled dazedly after the kiss. You didn’t miss the way he trembled underneath you when you raised your hands in disgust. You didn’t miss the tear tracks running down his cheeks. You didn't miss how he sobbed and sobbed all the way up the hall.

You had wished and wished with all your heart that you could go over there and apologise. That you could cuddle him, and kiss his tears away.

But you didn’t.

Because you are a weak, pathetic idiot who can’t express emotions.

John deserves someone better.

John deserves someone who’ll love him for everything he is. He deserves someone who makes him laugh. He deserves someone who makes him feel loved and happy. He deserves someone who loves him.

You love him.

But you don’t deserve someone like John.

Why would he want someone as disgusting as you?

 

“Come on kid, what are you going to do? Do you want to stay here, or kill me?” Jack laughs, blood dribbling from his mouth.

You grip Caledfwlch’s hilt tightly, pointing it at his throat.

“What are you going to choose pretty boy? Revenge or pleasure?”

 

You choose revenge.

 

 

Your name is John Egbert and there sure are a lot of henchmen here.

 

As Rose, Kanaya and yourself make your way through the castle, they just keep coming.

Out of every door, crevice and stairway, they’re coming. It’s like a never-ending flow of hench-men.

Every time Kanaya saws one in half, or Rose stabs one aside, or Whisker Psychics one away, or you bludgeon one to death, two more take its place.

 

You’re beginning to get tired. Your hammer feels heavy in your weakening hands. Your muscles feel sore and over-worked. You’re finding it harder and harder to keep up your optimistic attitude as the battle wears on.

 

“John! Stay determined! We must beat them!” Rose calls out to you, stabbing a henchman in the chest with a bloodied knitting-needle. He collapses onto the floor in an unmoving heap.

“I’m trying but…it’s so hard!” You call back, hitting a henchman square on the head.

“Don’t worry John, we’re here to help! That’s what families do!” Kanaya mows through three henchmen at once.

You smile, and find the strength to take another swing.

 

But just as your hammer makes contact with the henchmens skull, it fades away into black nothingness.

Looking around, you notice that all the others are in the same state—all the bodies and all the live ones—they’re gone.

The fading smell of black liquorice fills the room.

 

“Jack’s dead.” Rose says, voice edged with finality.

“What? How can you tell?” You ask, looking over at her.

“Jack’s magic is what generated those creatures. He’s connected to them—he’s what made them tick. They just disappeared. It’s not that hard to figure out.”

“So Dave did it?” You say, completely ignoring Roses scathing tone. “He killed Jack?”

Rose nudges a pile of ashes with her foot. “It would appear so.”

You let out a relieved chuckle. “That’s a relief…”

“We should go see him. Make sure he’s not hurt.” Rose smiles.

 

You nod in agreement. All tiredness forgotten, you bolt off to search the castle for Dave, not even checking to see whether or not Rose, Kanaya and Whisker are following.

 

The first room you encounter is some kind of dining room. A long, mahogany table lined with gold-rimmed crystal glasses and fine china plates takes up most of the room. Rich tapestries cover the walls. But no Daves

The second room is small and crowded with furniture. It looks to be some kind of dungeon? Various swings, leashes and ropes fill the room. You highly doubt Dave is in here.

The third is a large, fancy looking ballroom. Crystal chandeliers hang from the low ceiling and aristocratic paintings line the walls. While it does look like fun to spin and twirl about in this room, you have to find Dave.

He’s in the fourth room you check.

 

He’s standing over Jack’s corpse with a scary look in his eyes. As you enter, he turns to look at you with such ferocity that you have to take a step back.

“Dave?” You question, a little bit of fear in your voice.

He just looks at you, slight sadness in his eyes.

You try again, stepping forward a little nervously.

“Dave, is everything ok?”

 

What he says next is so quiet you have to strain your ears to hear it. But hear it you do. And dread and regret and hate it you do.

 

“Read me back in.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


	10. Back Into the Book

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John reads Dave back into the book with a...few difficulties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry.

_“Read me back in.”_

Your name is John Egbert and your best friend wants to leave you.

 

You thought that after everything you went through together he would stay. But you guess you were wrong.

You meant even less then you thought you meant to him.

 

Dave is covered in blood. It pools around his feet and clings to his clothes. It leaks out of Jacks body and pools around on the stone floor. The thick red substance fills the room with an iron-tinged stench.

Dave looks angry, so angry. He just killed someone, and he looks like he’d do it again. Honestly, you’re more than a little scared.

Nervously, you step a little closer.

 

“I-Into I-Inkstuck?” Your stutter has come back in full force, much to your complete and utter embarrassment.

“No, into the fucking Twilight series. I want to bang all the vampires and werewolves.”

You frown, staring at him. “Dave, p-please be serious.”

“Yeah, I wanna go back.” He says, refusing to look you in the eyes.

 

Rose, Kanaya and Whisker enter the room in a rush.

“John! Don’t run off like that again.” Kanaya walks over to you, eyeing Jacks corpse a little wearily.

“S-Sorry Kanaya…I-I j-just couldn’t h-help it.” You stutter out.

She frowns a little, turning to look at Dave. “Are you hurt?”

He shakes his head no, a little stiffly.

“Then why does everything in here feel so…tense?”

“D-Dave wants m-me to read him b-back in.” You say, glancing around the room awkwardly.

“Is that so?” Rose frowns and glares at Dave. He flinches under her sword-sharp stare, but recovers fairly quickly.

 

“Yes that is so.” He shoots back angrily. The venom in his voice startles you.

“W-well if y-you r-really want this…” You pull out Inkstuck from its little back-pack on your back.

He just stares at you, an unreadable expression on his face. But you search it anyway, because you’re desperately searching for any sign of him not wanting this.

You can’t find any.

 

Dejectedly, you walk over to a rather luxurious couch. Wordlessly, Dave follows behind, sitting down beside you. Whisker jumps up onto your lap and starts kneading at your chubby thighs. Rose pulls up a chair beside you and Kanaya sits next to Dave.

You clutch Inkstuck tighter, running your thumb nervously along the bindings.

Dave stares straight ahead, unseeing.

 

“Dave, are you sure you want to go through with this?” Rose asks, shooting Dave a _look_.

“Yeah I’m fucking sure!” Dave bristles, yelling defensively.

“Are you sure you’d rather not leave? I do believe someone badly wants you to stay.”

You blush darkly as he turns to look at you. As he stares, he seems to look at every single part of you. It feels he’s looking into your soul itself. When he notices you staring, he looks away and the feeling is gone.

“B-but it’s t-totally your choice! Stay here, g-go back, as long as you’re happy.” You manage to squeak out.

Rose facepalms.

“I still want to leave.” Dave says, curt and clipped.

“If that’s what you wish—who am I to stop you?” Rose sighs, gesturing wildly.

“It is what I wish, so keep your shitty-ass assumptions to yourself!” Dave yells back, whole body tense. His hands are curled up into fists—knuckles white.

 

You flinch away from him a little bit. At seeing your terrified posture, he calms down a little, muttering apologies and waving his hands about awkwardly. He places one hand on your shoulder, perhaps to try and comfort?

You leave his hand on your shoulder, because no matter how blood-stained and scary he is right now he’s still your best friend and his hand is very comforting. You open Inkstuck—right to the end.

 

“I’ll Read you back right towards the end—so you’re safe from the execution and can go your own way. Does that sound alright to you?” You look at him, trying not to let your misery seep through.

He blinks a little. “Yeah that’s fine…” He mutters.

“O-ok then. H-here goes.” You place your finger on the books worn yellow page.

“Oh! I know you’d probably be in a hurry to get back, but I just want to say…thanks…for everything…You’re really, really cool—even though I’ve never said it out loud. You’re really brave and sweet and nice. You’re my best friend and I’m going to miss you so much…” Awkwardly, you lean forward a bit and kiss him on the cheek.

He blushes a bit and looks away, freezing up.

“Sorry…” You shuffle away awkwardly. “Just had to um…nevermind I’ll read you back in…”

Reluctantly, you turn your head down to the pages and begin to read.

 

_“The blade fell upon the traitor’s neck, slicing through meat and bone as though it was nothing more than air.”_

(Beside you, Dave moves his hand off your shoulder. You slump down a little in our seat. You will miss him terribly. But hopefully, living with Rose and Kanaya will make it all better. Hopefully.)

_“The traitors head was placed on a spike above Jacks castle as a warning to all others who’d dare oppose him. His body was left to rot where it fell.”_

(You really don’t want Dave to go. If he goes, then there’s the chance your mother will come back. You don’t think even Kanaya and Rose could stop her then. Especially if she’s learnt magic from Dave’s world.)

_“The citizens of Derse went about their daily business, not even caring that their king was a cruel dictator. But that’s how life goes. People move from place to place with barely a thought in their heads. Journeys end. Every person dies. Everything ends._

_That is the circle of life.”_

You stop reading, because the book is finished. You yawn, shutting the book. Whisker yowls and rubs up against your leg anxiously.

“What is it girl?” You say, reaching down to pat her.

Whisker yowls a little louder.

 

It is at this point you realise that not only is Dave not in the room anymore, but Rose and Kanaya are gone as well.

Sitting next to you, where Dave was previously sitting, is mother.

Next to you, where Rose was sitting, is that blonde lady, all poised and still holding that note-book.

Beside mother is a girl you’ve never seen before. She’s tall and lean, with tan skin and messy dark hair. Bright green eyes stare at you in curiosity. Her clothes suggest her to be a servant girl—but her demeanour shows you an entirely different story. A story of wildness and wind and the ocean and endless forests.

 

“No. No no no no…” You whisper out, clutching Inkstuck to your chest. You attempt to run away, but mother grabs your wrist, crushing it in a too-tight grip. She yanks you back into her arms, digging in her nails into your flesh.

You go still in her grip, daring not even to breathe. If you move—even slightly—she’ll be mad.

Your mother is terrifying when she’s mad.

 

“Well well well. Aranea, looks like you were right. The boy _is_ a Reader.” Her fingers slides across your cheek, fingernail pressing deep into your skin.

“I’m always right.” The blonde woman, _Aranea_ says, smirking self-satisfactorily.

You close your eyes and say nothing as you feel a trickle of blood run down your cheek.

 

Because your eyes are closed, you don’t notice it at first. But upon hearing mothers surprised yell, you open them.

You’re floating in mid-air, slowly drifting away from mothers cruel arms. Whisker has surrounded you with an energy field and is using her telekinesis to drift you to safety.

She sets you down behind her, snarling at mother and Aranea.

You stumble a bit. Reading always takes energy, but you can’t sleep now. Then mother will take Inkstuck and burn it for sure, no matter _how_ rare it is.

 

Whisker is a Pokémon right?

You just have to shout out a move and she’ll do it, right?

She’ll protect you…right?

 

“W-Whisker, use Crunch! And don’t let go!” You yell out. You hope she obeys you.

Luckily, Whisker is more than enthusiastic to dig her teeth into mothers arm. Mother lets out a roar of pain and flings her arm back, knocking Whisker into the wall behind you.

“Whisker!” You yell, reaching out to Whisker’s fainted form. You trip on nothing and go crashing to the floor.

 

Blackness creeps along the edges of your vision—coloured spaces getting smaller and smaller. You feel yourself getting more and more exhausted. You struggle to get up, weak, flabby noodle arms attempting to right you back on your feet. You can’t sleep here. Mother would kill you, or at least make you wish you were dead. (Not that she hasn't made you want to die before).

But…you’re so tired. You struggle against the waves of sleep, but it’s futile. Your arms fail you, and you collapse onto the floor.

 

You succumb to the darkness.

 

 

Your name is Dave Strider and you regret everything.

You regret asking John to read you back in. He looked devastated. _You_ were devastated. You wanted to stay…but you can’t. You don’t belong there.

You regret being so cold towards John in the end. You wish you could’ve been a better friend.

You wish you didn’t regret everything.

 

But it’s too late now. You can hear the roar of the Dersian crowd. You can smell the familiar stench of horse dung and rotting foods. You can see the polluted sky up above you. Derse is…just as underwhelming as you remember it.

You’ll never see John again…

 

Knowing the Dersians, they’re probably more than a little confused right now. Better pretend this was all part of your plan.

You sit up, expecting masses of people surrounding you. Those expectations are not met.

 

Instead of standing on an old wooden execution platform, you’re standing above the citizens of Derse. Which is fine. It makes it all better for telling them how you escaped.

What isn’t fine is the two people standing/sitting behind you.

 

Kanaya is rubbing her head in confusion, eyes closed.

Rose is already standing, looking around in amazement.

 

No.

No they can’t be here!

You were supposed to be Read in _alone._

John would’ve gone back with Rose and Kanaya and lived happily without you. You would’ve gone your own way, no matter how lonely you’d have been.

John’s probably sitting all alone in that draughty castle, lonely and confused.

 

Then, it gets worse.

In order to Read, the laws of equivalent exchange must be applied—so Rose and Wikipedia say. If three people went into Inkstuck, then three people had to go back into John’s world.

You have a sinking suspicion that you know who went back.

 

You feel worse than ever.

 

Because John sent his mother here. In return, you were Read into John’s world. Now, John read you back in. So that must mean…

 

You look at the roaring crowds below you, unseeing.

All you can do is worry about John…

 

_You hope he's okay..._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, don't fear! This work is part of a series. This is the finished first part.  
> The second part should be up in a few days time. It should be called 'Stuck in Ink'.  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this first part. lol
> 
> Fact-I wrote this when it was snowing. And yes, it does snow in Australia.


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